


Meet Me In The Woods Tonight

by booleanWildcard



Category: Naruto
Genre: Ages aren't canon either, Alternate Universe, Cooking, EMOSHUNS, Families of Choice, Fluff, Happy accidents, Heavy Dianna Wynne Jones influence, I'm really trying with these tags ok but i'm not good at it, Identity Porn, Iruka's stubborn, Kakashi Being a Dad, Long winded, M/M, Mpreg, Pancakes, SO MUCH EMOSHUNS, Slow Burn, Sort Of, There's a moving castle, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Pregnancy, Trans Umino Iruka, Transmasculine iruka, Very AU, a bit of unhealthy drinking, also some actual porn, author has social anxiety, bit of mild body horror, character focused, genre blending, iruka is good at seals, kind of a retelling, magic and jutsu, more magic than jutsu actually, naruto thinks so anyway, no publishing schedule or promises made, not quite a crossover, raman's made with pig feet, rash decisions, sex with anbu, some gore, some typically-cis-female language used for Iruka's bits, sometimes you find home sometimes home finds you, specifically happy accident baby, summons are a kind of demon familiar, the dogs have ideas., unbeta'd we die like men, very up in characters' heads, what even are small children, when i grow up i want to live in a magical frog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booleanWildcard/pseuds/booleanWildcard
Summary: "This year carried more heavy promises than just summer heat, however; ones Iruka could not afford to ignore, no matter how much he wanted to."
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Comments: 45
Kudos: 149





	1. I took a little journey to the unknown

**Author's Note:**

> update sept 2020- new readers may want to check the author's note that's the last chapter for information about how this is progressing.
> 
> \- This is my first real fanfic attempt. I’ve been reading for ages, but before this I was a roleplayer. Unfortunately, recent events and attitude shifts within my roleplaying groups has resulted in some fairly serious community-based trauma, and I no longer feel comfortable with that creative outlet. I feel compelled to write, though, so.. New medium!  
>  I do have wicked bad social anxiety for sharing these stories publicly, so provided I actually get to that point— thank you for reading. If you like it, neat. If you don’t, there are plenty other fics in the sea.  
>  I’m writing mostly for self indulgence. I want to read stories about my favorite characters as transmasc, which means writing some myself. So I’m doing that. I’m interested in two things: characters, and AU’s. Plot’s more of an excuse to get into the previous two. I actively don’t care about canon, and modify it wherever I want. There are plenty of authors who do write canon, and of course there’s the original Naruto stories; given that, I am happy to go in other directions. I tend to like cliches, and I’m not ashamed of that. My AU’s are fairly extreme (I have some in the pipeline that are much moreso than this, including a faerie-world konoha, some cyberpunk/space opera/spaceships n’ fun stuff AU’s, and stuff like that), and I adapt the characters to the AU; each character is a local interpretation according to the world, in ways that every reader may not agree with. They may seem OOC. Your mileage will vary.  
>  currently intend to go long, but no promises re: publishing schedule. or that it will be finished at all.
> 
> more notes at the bottom, but quickly-- Iruka's experience isn't meant to speak for anyone specifically or be "the right way to be trans" (that's not a thing). Iruka is a man; he has had top surgery and is undergoing a kind of HRT, which is as much transition as he would like to pursue. I use language to refer to his body that I use to refer to my own body;I do explicitly describe his body, including the marks of transition. i consider much of my language to be fairly neutral, but there isn't really good neutral language for some things, so your mileage will vary. (that tension is part of why I'm writing a transmasc pregnancy fic in the first place)  
>  Sex scenes are marked with a *** at top and bottom in case anyone would like to avoid them. 
> 
> I’ve tried to be good about labeling in the tags, but I’m not skilled at that.  
>  Thank you to all the fic writers who have come before me, these have been lights for me in dark times. To blend some idioms here: I’m following in the footsteps of giants, and am profoundly grateful to your examples.  
>  I talk too much. On with the story. more technical notes at the bottom.
> 
> EDIT- end note moved up here because it was present on all subsequent chapters.
> 
> the more technical notes;  
>  I’m writing mostly for self indulgence. I want to read stories about my favorite characters as transmasc, which sometimes means writing some myself. So I’m doing that.  
> 
> 
> I’m also not going to list out what modifications I’ve made to canon in detail (boring and too long), but I will say that Jutsus and Sealing bear mostly only a passing resemblance to the source; they’re more a kind of chakra-powered magic here. In general, there's more magic in this story than jutsu, partially as a borrowing from the other world i'm sprinkling in here, I’m also taking liberties with political plots.
> 
> Any ideas in these fics do not originate with me, I’m mixing them together, and if the result seems original that’s more luck than effort. If you like any part of this, please feel free to run with it it your own fics. And, of course, I don’t own any aspect of Naruto canon, from the world to any canon character that appears in this story. 
> 
> This fic is not labeled a crossover, but mostly because I think crossovers should reflect direct content from both sources. This is a retelling, which in my internal classification is a different thing. That said, I am heavily borrowing the story structure and plot outline of Howl’s Moving Castle (the book version, though I also sample slightly from the movie), and sprinklings of House of Many Ways, with some significant and obvious adaptations.
> 
> some of the tags refer to Ch2, which is in progress
> 
> -42

Spring in Konoha was starting to fade, bringing with it the promise of a thick and heavy summer, all muggy air and oppressive heat. It was barely June, and still the wee hours of a particularly still night, but that summer heat was nevertheless a strong suggestion in the air, palpable in the breeze that blew sluggishly in through the windows, carrying the heavy floral scent of the flowers outside.

Ordinarily, Iruka would be enjoying these last few weeks of spring, enjoying the fading lightness in the air, the flower-smell of the gardens blooming privately in the residential districts of Konoha, the impatient boisterousness of his former students as they enjoyed their freedom from daily classes and homework. This was one of his favorite times of year.

This year carried more heavy promises than just summer heat, however; ones Iruka could not afford to ignore, no matter how much he wanted to. The thought harassed him as he sat on the floor of his bathroom, crossed arms and forehead resting on the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl. He didn’t look up, letting the chakra powering his wards do the work of everpresent nin wariness. The scrap of paper that brought this realization to bear was still in view on the counter, and he didn’t want to see it right now, didn’t want to be spurred into another round of frustrated, confused, conflicted tears. He was just barely starting to calm down.

Sort of.

Or at least reach that panic state where one could form actual thoughts, beyond ‘oh shit oh shit oh shit fuck shit fuck’. He had to make a series of decisions, _right now,_ and then he had to act discretely to carry them out, whatever they ended up being.

That paper, carefully inscribed in Iruka’s hand with biochemically reactive seals that only some medical nin would recognize, cheerfully displayed its results in a way very clear to Iruka: the first two were complete and visible, and a third less visible as a legible seal and more as some signed indicator marks otherwise obscured by the natural contraction of the paper as it had twisted around the seals’ shapes during its reaction. Detecting pregnancy at this early stage was always some level of guess-work, even with Iruka’s seals— but he was practiced at writing them, having been providing them to friends for years, and his diagnostic seals had a good reputation for accuracy.

Iruka was almost certainly pregnant.

Furthermore, the father was someone powerful and important, which was clear from both his memories and from the fact that the paper showed a chakra response at all, particularly at this early stage.Certain parties would certainly be interested in this, keen in their attempt to influence power in Konoha— parties that he wasn’t supposed to know about, as a novice academy teacher—they would find the potential of this child _very interesting,_ particularly as a tool. Even that thought made his hackles rise slightly, a nascent flicker of protective instinct that was probably itself a bad sign.

Iruka squeezed his eyes closed, and let his mind wander back, trying to find hints of who the father might be. He knew exactly _when_ and _where_ it had happened.

***

Iruka was normally very selective with his partners, but this had been a special situation: a festival to celebrate the coming of spring, in fact, a masquerade characterized by an atmosphere of secrecy and surreptitious connection. The village-wide party carried on late into the night, and everyone disguised who they were underneath riotous masks and costumes, connecting as if an entire city full of strangers who were all meeting for the first time. It was an old festival, the set of myths that had inspired it mostly forgotten— something to do with secrecy and masks, which was all anyone had to know to justify the fun of hidden identities— but it was nevertheless an extremely popular festival, especially during times of peace.

There were ANBU there too, to guard the event— not precisely in costume, but also nevertheless hiding who they were, and so there was a subtle understanding that they were participating in their own way, even if they were on duty. It was one of the few times where some of them walked among the populace, visible but masked, and did not invoke reactions of fear and horror. They were _almost_ ordinary people, then, unremarkable but for the dourness of their uniforms in comparison with the bright costumes hiding everyone else, civilian and non-ANBU nin alike.

Iruka had encountered one of these ANBU as he stepped into an alleyway to catch his breath, taking a moment of quiet away from the dancing and singing and bright lanterns and costumes that had turned the market into a chaotic carnivalesque celebration. He hadn’t seen the other man right away, just ducking in and pressing himself against the wall of the building behind him with an exhilarated smile, riding the ecstasies of the energetic atmosphere even if he wasn’t technically drinking any of the alchohol on offer at every corner. Iruka had jumped at a voice behind him, a presence that had been invisible and was now quite palpable, whose scrutiny he could _feel_ physically, “That’s a neat trick.”

Iruka laughed, breathlessly, and turned around grinning. His own costume was nothing particularly special— a cat, with a partial mask that covered Iruka's nose and extended to his jaw, leaving only mouth and chin exposed—but he knew what the tall ANBU was referring to. He’d layered charka onto the outfit, understated and delicately intertwined, a display of skill so subtle few would know to look for it, if they could discern it at all.It was meant to emphasize the costume, cast an illusory suggestion when seen from the corner of one’s eyes that Iruka was not merely wearing a mask but had perhaps grown fur or an altered face shape or a tail, with additional layers to evade the skills of those who could see beyond genjutsu. Nothing classified, of course— he wasn’t supposed to know about classified seals and spells— merely some techniques taught to the academy children, woven into chakra and into the costume. Iruka didn’t know anyone else who could do that, but he didn’t think of it as a particularly unique talent— it was like seals, but more transient, preserving a live chakra expression, similar to the disguise jutsus but a little more suggestion than illusion. The only reason others didn’t do it, as far as he could tell, was for similar reasons that prevented people from noticing it now— they didn’t think to look.

Still, when someone did notice it, it was a delight, sending a surge of hot pride through Iruka’s mind and body, mingling with the festival’s euphoria. “Thanks. I designed it myself.” He’d responded smugly, turning towards a presence that was beginning to crowd him against the wall, in a way both suggestive and clearly escapable.This ANBU was Interested, but giving Iruka more than enough space to make it clear if the interest wasn’t mutual.

But it very much was mutual, and Iruka delighted in yet another subversion enabled by this festival, leaning in to the ANBU’s suggestion, staring right up into the painted dog’s face of the white porcelain mask, offering himself in a way more blatant than he would _ever_ ordinarily dare. It brought a blush to his face, but also a mischievous grin, an adult version of the playfulness that had spurred his childhood pranks.

There wasn’t much talking after that— just hands, everywhere. The ANBU’s, sliding across his outfit, first overtop and then underneath. Iruka responded enthusiastically, moaning and pressing himself into the slim body, sliding his own hands across firmness (but not daring to go underneath, because ANBU was still ANBU, even if the festival allowed certain transgressions— all physical exposure would have to come from him, and could not include anything remotely useful in identifying the ANBU, more was the pity).

The only pause came when the ANBU began messing with the buckles of Iruka’s clothes, seeking access to naked skin— Iruka whined and hissed “wait!” and the man stopped immediately, beginning to step away. Uttering a noise of frustration, Iruka grabbed the gloved wrist before it could retract completely, trying to keep the physical warmth of the ANBU’s body closeby. “No- sorry.” He clarified, “I’m very much into this and want to go further,” this offered with a breathless laugh, “just-“ A spike of fear and uncertainty— it was always hard to manage a physical disclosure, particularly in a situation like this; further, it could be dangerous, depending on how the ANBU felt— fuck it, better to go for blunt. “I don’t know what you’re expecting, but I’m trans.” He let go of the wrist, pressing himself back up against the wall and trying to look nonchalant, like he wasn’t red and breathless and very very aroused. “If that’s a dealbreaker-“

The ANBU sounded just as breathless and aroused as he returned to pressing against Iruka, “definitely _not_ a dealbreaker. Just let me know if you have limits.” And the hands went back to making quick work of his clothing. Iruka felt lips and then teeth on his neck and collar-bone, freshly exposed to the cool night air, and bucked his hips forward, dragging his crotch against the ANBU’s, feeling stiff arousal there. He closed his eyes— lips and teeth meant the man had forgone his mask, and he could not look, and so allowed himself to be led by feel, and to react to purely physical sensation.

It was a rough-edged encounter, passionate but fast, sloppy, this being public sex during a well-attended event. The ANBU’s lips migrated down his body, following the drag of sharp-gloved fingers, pressing with extreme care across every inch of skin as it was exposed by the ANBU’s other hand. The lethal tips to the gloves never pierced flesh, despite the reckless desperation of the other man’s movements, and Iruka felt paradoxically safe and cherished here, if in an anonymous way. They didn’t know who each other were, would probably never know, but paradoxically that didn’t reduce the intensity of their connection, it emphasized it as a fragile and ephemeral thing. Something for just this night, just this festival, and that much more lovely for its transience.

Fingertips and lips lingered for a moment on the long scars on Iruka’s chest, on the grafted nipples; they’d never _entirely_ regained their previous sensation, but the feeling was nevertheless erotic, electric for the appreciation lavished on something Iruka normally chose to hide. But they didn’t linger there long, trailing lower as the ANBU exposed the flesh of his belly and undid his pants. Iruka couldn’t entirely suppress a pleased yelp at the sudden warmth of a mouth between his legs, lavishing his small cock— clearly erect and visibly straining against the hood— with warm, wet attention.

Iruka whimpered, opening his legs wider, surrendering to the whims of the ANBU completely. Fingers teased his lower lips and entrance, spreading them apart gently but never penetrating— the gloves were too likely to do damage to the soft tissues there, so the touches remained featherlight, extremely gentle, both teasing and reflecting an almost reverent care for his physical well-being. Iruka was the impatient one, whining and whimpering and jerking his hips in stuttering flutters against the ANBU’s mouth, but the ANBU was patient and relentless, occasionally teasing Iruka’s front hole with his tongue, making sure that Iruka was aroused and wet enough to take more without injury.

Iruka was nearly wrecked when the man finally stood again, panting and breathless himself, pressing his wet mouth up against Iruka’s own for a _delightfully_ filthy kiss. The other man freed his own cock in the meantime, canting his hips forward and dragging it between Iruka’s soaking lips, pushing it lightly against his hole, but letting it slide forward between the lips to frot against the bottom of Iruka’s erect cock. Iruka whined again, rubbing himself shamelessly on the cock, trying to grind down and get the ANBU inside whenever the other man let it nudge against his entrance. “Please!” Iruka whined, shoving his face— eyes still closed— against the other man’s neck and mouthing it desperately, letting only the faintest suggestion of teeth drag against skin (didn’t want to trigger an ANBU’s danger instinct, that would _really_ ruin the encounter.)

The ANBU laughed, some kind of verbal assent apparently what he’d been waiting for, and pushed his cock inside. He was _hard,_ and slightly larger than Iruka was used to taking, particularly without being stretched by fingers first— but Iruka enjoyed the slight discomfort of the stretch, as the other man pushed into him slowly, gloved hands moving to Iruka’s hips and holding them steady, lifting the shorter man slightly to make the angle better. Iruka moved cooperatively, bracing himself against the wall of the building he was leaning on and lifting his legs to wrap them around the ANBU’s hips, letting the ANBU as deep into his body as he could take, enjoying the feeling of fullness as his internal muscles grasped tightly to the cock currently spreading them open.

“Fuck.” The ANBU swore, holding still for a minute or two, before experimentally rolling his hips forward. Iruka whimpered, bucking on the cock as much as his position allowed, eyes still closed but expression clear with the kind of tension driven by wanton physical need. “Fuck.” The ANBU said again, reflecting that same tension. “You’re beautiful.” His voice was low, quiet; there was a tone that implied he wasn’t in much more control than Iruka was, despite the obvious care he was taking not to press the needle-points of his gloves into Iruka’s hips as he gripped them; he wasn’t paying that much care to what he was saying. They developed a rhythm between them, hard and fast, the ANBU’s cock never quite leaving Iruka’s body completely with each rolling thrust, “Fuck.” And then a little more clearly, meant for Iruka to hear him: “I’m close—“

Iruka responded to this by surging forward in the other man’s grip, wrapping his legs tightly around him and his arms around his neck, not wanting the other man to pull out, not wanting to lose the sensation of the other man’s cock. If anything, the thought of this stranger finishing inside him was even more arousing, pushed him over the edge; Iruka slipped one hand between their bodies, rubbing his small cock as it ground against the other man’s pelvis with each rolling thrust, and the combined thought and sensation took him over the edge, into twitching physical euphoria. He clung to the ANBU, passage milking the man’s cock as he shuddered through the full-body sensation of a _really good orgasm._

The ANBU groaned “Fuck.” one last time, grinding his hips against Iruka’s, pressing his cock as far into Iruka’s body as it could go. Two more deep thrusts and he also came, spilling inside Iruka as the smaller man’s orgasm began to wane, internal muscles still twitching around his oversensitive cock. They stayed like that for a long moment, the ANBU gently supporting their weight as they leaned against the building, pressed deep inside Iruka, both breathing heavily and enjoying the afterglow.

Iruka was surprised not to feel a sudden rush of shame or guild— just pleasure, the low quiet afterglow that he usually felt after a session with a close friend, not what he’d expect from an abrupt and largely wordless encounter with an _ANBU_ during a masquerade. The ANBU did step back eventually, slipping his cock back inside the uniform he’d never entirely shed, but he took his time leaving, clearly not regretting anything that happened, clearly enjoying the sight of Iruka debauched and partially undressed, panting and leaning against the wall. Iruka’s brown skin flushed warm and red from the obvious attention— he wasn’t an exhibitionist and always felt lingeringly strange about being _looked at_ — but he didn’t make an effort to put himself back together, letting the ANBU see the results of his work, the panting and the flush and the dribble of cum that had leaked down his leg. It felt strangely flattering. Iruka looked back, drinking the stranger’s appearance, at the dog mask and the uniform, aware that he himself was wearing a smugly satisfied grin, aware that this was probably the most he’d ever have to remember the man responsible for this particular encounter.

“Close your eyes.” The ANBU suggested, and Iruka obeyed, feeling the man once again step in close. Lips on his mouth, a kiss, and then another dragging on his collarbone, this one with teeth. “Thanks. Enjoy the festival. I have.” A second later and the ANBU and his presence was gone, leaving a small vacuum of suddenly-absent energy, an ache between his legs, and the sudden surge of noise and brightness that was the festival just beyond the building.

Iruka giggled, shocked and delighted at his own daring, and let himself enjoy one last long minute of debauched afterglow before redoing his own outfit and rejoining the public festivities. He’d fucked an _ANBU_ during _a festival_ , in _public, against a wall_ , risque and messy and just like the hedonistic protagonists in porn novels, but he could find in him no regrets: only delight, and twice again for the required secrecy.

***

This mistake— was this a mistake? No, that word rankled; unintentional, perhaps, but Iruka’d _known_ the risks, and he didn’t regret taking them.Not a mistake, then.

This child— 

Iruka had choices. None of them were easy or without risk, but he _did_ have them. He could end this pregnancy now, in its early stages— induce miscarriage, either on his own or with help of the few medic nins that knew the specifics of his non-cisgender body. That was risky, though. And… his hand trailed down to his hip, to a seal tattooed there, one he’d largely devised himself in his early studies into advanced seal techniques— one whose creation _spurred_ those techniques, and accidentally granted him clearance to access Konoha information far higher than his official designation allowed, and was regarded to those who knew about it as proof of his genius with seals, and one whose creation also caused Sarutobi to designate knowledge of his skills as classified information unto itself, an asset worth hiding.It had been a risky and surprisingly successful experiment, one Sarutobi had been equally infuriated and impressed by, upon learning of his adopted son’s decision to use himself as a guinea pig: this seal was a subtle piece of medical jutsu that nudged his body to produce more masculinizing hormones, an alternative to regular testosterone injections to make his body match who he actually was (he _really_ hated shots.). But there was another reason Iruka had chose to do this with a seal, beyond curiosity as to whether or not it was possible— the seal was _alive_ , adaptive to his body and its needs.

He _could’ve_ designed it such to prevent pregnancy at all, shut that down as a possibility— but he hadn’t, because Iruka had known he wanted a family, wanted specifically to _bear children_ , and wanted to do this _as the man that he was_.

He’d just imagined doing this, you know, years in the future. Preferably when Sarutobi designated it safe for him to be a little more public about his identity; barring that, then at least once he’d safely but firmly established himself as academy teacher Iruka, chuunin rank, nothing special. And he’d always imagined doing it with a partner: that blissful image of happily ever after that part of him wanted to believe was still possible in a ninja villiage, despite all evidence to the contrary.

But, well. Who knew if that was possible? The happily ever after, or even just having a kid as safe academy teacher Iruka, nothing special.But the pregnancy part— the having a child and raising it part— that was possible. In fact, it was now the more likely state of affairs. Iruka laughed to himself, exhausted, and then pitched forward as another wave of nausea washed over him. This felt like mild flu, and it was only the beginning, going by the probable timelines. Five weeks, he was five weeks along.

Fuck.

He could always have a child later, and he know the advice of his friends would be along those lines, to have a child when he was more established and the village was safer. It was advice he would’ve given himself, if he wasn’t the one in the situation. But… But he could also have the child now. Could also not have to wait for some idealized, indeterminate future to shape his life into something closer to what he’d imagined it to be.

He’d really never been good about sitting around and accepting only the futures everyone else said were possible and realistic.

So.. he was keeping it. Which meant he and the child were in danger, and that much more because the child’s father was an unknown ANBU-rank ninja with serious chakra reserves and probably some dramatic bloodline limit. That child would be eagerly sought as a tool, an asset— greedily, like an object instead of a person— by even those in Konoha that Iruka trusted and whose intentions he knew were good. That thought was uncomfortable enough, but he also knew that there were many in Konoha whose intentions were not good: Danzo and root, a shadowy organization whose existence he only vaguely knew about, suggestions in sealed files whose clearance was technically higher than Iruka ought to have been accessing— suggestions enough to know that the organization cultivated ninja as weapons for pursuit of political power, nothing more. Weapons, easily discarded and always mistreated. Whoever his child’s father was, Root would consider it a _prize._ They may even steal the baby away from him, considering a lowly Chuunin teacher an unworthy parent for such a special legacy.

It was a cold, terrifying thought. Iruka thought himself calm, assessing his own mental state as he considered it, but in reality, this was just another face of panic, one that disguised rash decisions as cold calculation, rather than announcing its presence with racing heart and inability to focus. It mixed with his headstrong protectiveness, an intoxicating variation on his stubbornness.That panic pushed him towards secrecy, away from confiding in the family of choice he’d developed since his parents had been killed, the people who loved and nurtured and protected and even guarded him. They wouldn’t be able to protect him from this, the panic said. He had to leave. He had to leave _right now_ , before anyone could even guess.

Anko and Genma and Asuma and Kurenei and Kotetsu and Izumo and Sarutobi would forgive him.

Or— well. He hoped they would, anyway. That when they learned what happened, they would understand.

He packed quickly, panic spurring him on as determination. He only paused to do three things:

First, he drew a seal, one that resembled both the seal on his hip and the seals that had proved his pregnancy. These similarities did not extend to their function, though— this seal ey referenced his biology, but acted _for_ it rather than _on_ it, instead imposing silence, sealing Iruka’s pregnancy from direct discussion by all but parties directly involved. It was hasty— this kind of sealing was really something best done more slowly, with more consideration— but he didn’t have time for that, so instead he focused on making it as safe for the baby as possible. He activated it on his body with a drop of blood.

Then he burned the paper that had confirmed his pregnancy, hesitating for only a moment— he was curious about the chakra indication, momentarily entertaining the idea of storing it and carrying it with him for investigation later— but no, that was a risk he didn’t need, because it could be discovered on his person and indication of the baby’s chakra type wasn’t really possible until a few weeks before birth, anyway.

Finally, as almost an afterthought on his way out the door, he hesitated, looking at his tea set high on a living room shelf. He had a tea with Sarutobi scheduled for later this afternoon, and the old man would miss him— and worse, this kind of fleeing might get him marked a missing-nin, and he didn’t want to risk that more than he already was. So he took out his tea things, setting them up on his table as if preparing to lay out a spread (this itself was unusual, because they always took tea at the Hokage Tower, but he hoped this would send a clear enough message), and included a note in an envelope warded for Sarutobi’s attention only. He tried to phrase it simply and innocuously, but to let some of his fear creep into the text, in both coded and obvious ways— really this sort of thing was _not_ his skill set, so he could only hope at its success:

‘ _Please forgive my hasty departure; I received a message in the night that my cousin— the one who is pregnant— she is having complications, and has requested the presence of family to help her. I feel that it is my duty to travel and provide what help I can. I humbly request your forgiveness, as I can think of no other solution; I will be back after the baby is born._ ’

This was a graceless solution, Iruka knew— but like the seal, he didn’t have time to think of a better option, or even just more subtle phrasing, as the sun was almost rising. Sarutobi would hopefully be able to piece it together regardless of its gracelessness— he knew that Iruka had no family left, that the three Uminos had been the sole survivors of their clan when they had immigrated to Konoha years before the Kyubi’s attack, that there was no cousin _to be_ pregnant. But he also knew about Iruka’s seal, about the way it had been designed; he would hopefully understand that Iruka’s invocation of duty referred to Konoha and loyalty to the Hokage, over of the grasping tendrils of root.

Hopefully, too, it wasn’t so obvious as to reveal these secrets to any external eyes who might also find the note. Or, more precisely, hopefully Iruka’s reputation as just-a-chuunin, just-an-academy-teacher, just-obsessive-over-protocol-at-the-mission-desk would provide enough cover to maket he note innocuous and disinteresting.

He hesitated a long moment more over the note, almost discarding his plan, almost fleeing to Anko’s instead— but no, he shoved the thought aside, sealed and warded the note, and fled Konoha for the silence of the surrounding pre-dawn forest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you find home, sometimes home finds you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I should post the second chapter, so the tags make sense.

The forest was calm, in that sleepy organic way, throughout the morning, the early morning tittering of birds piling on in small layers of harmless sound. It was a significant contrast to how Iruka was feeling, as he walked briskly away from his beloved village— The misidentified panic that kept Iruka moving coursed steadily through his veins, a constant vibration of tension flowing steadily around his body, almost a secondary kind of chakra. He did not use actual chakra, did not push past a walk— but that walk was _fast_ , nevertheless, and unrelenting, even as sweat started to bead on his forehead and back throughout the rising heat of day. June was bringing summer with it, and quickly.

Every little rustle of the bushes or trees made him jump, every shift along the careful network of chakra that was the forest— he was doing nothing suspicious, and nobody would yet find his absence from the village amiss, but he nevertheless wanted to avoid being seen, if possible. Things would be significantly easier that way. Less chance of interference, less chance that someone might put together some alternate reason for his leaving. 

Or worse, that deep place from which his fear was rising suggested, they might somehow figure out the real reason. 

The adrenaline kept him moving at the unrelenting pace until well into late morning, approaching noon, at which point the creeping hunger and sweat finally forced him to slow to a more casual walk. He hadn’t eaten, unwilling to trust his mutinous belly; it rumbled protests in retaliation, and threatened nausea from hunger. He shoved it down, groaning to himself, and rubbing his eyes in exhausted self-frustration. 

Now that the adrenaline was starting to fade, the panic was ebbing along with it, and he could feel the weight of this decision settling over himself for the first time. Why had he— what had he been thinking?

Not, precisely, that he regretted this decision, or intended to go back— he could likely still do so without his original intention being discovered, if he _really_ wanted, but he wasn’t going to do that. The core of his panic was till in place, the part fueled by knowledge whose accuracy he trusted and that he wasn’t supposed to know. Even given the secret clearance he’d been granted as Sarutobi’s adopted second son with his specific abilities and seals knowledge, he wasn’t actually sure if the Hokage knew or approved of quite how deep Iruka’s access to files in the Hokage’s tower went— or his willingness to access them. 

And, worse, if Root _did_ find out about his baby, and if they tried to take it from him, then what else would they find out about him— his access, maybe, all the secrets he’d derived from it and from being the Hokage’s adopted son?Iruka would never let the child go without a fight, and that would justify an interrogation, and that made him a liability in the specific way they’d been trying to avoid by keeping him at chuunin rank, bound to the village by innocuous positions like academy teaching and his mission desk assignment. He may have been rash, but the danger was very real.

But still. Perhaps he could’ve been a little wiser about this whole thing. Talked to Anko. Gotten advice from trusted friends. Perhaps consulted with Sarutobi and gotten an official send-off to some guarded safe-house— it had seemed so impossible when he left, and probably still was, but nevertheless a nice thought….

Perhaps, at the very least, he could’ve packed himself some food. This thought finally got him to come to a complete stop for a rest, closing his eyes and bending over, hands resting on his knees as he considered the world in frustration. He’d have to go foraging before too long, which would take time away from getting as far from Konoha as possible. Teach him to make huge life decisions on a couple hours of sleep and bad morning sickness and fear. 

“Kid,” he said aloud, not quite under his breath, “You’re already a lot of trouble.”

“HEY, I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU!” 

A loud, upset voice from _very_ nearby made Iruka jump nearly out of his skin, as much because he hadn’t felt anyone coming as for its general _loud_ closeness. His eyes snapped open and he looked, wide-eyed, at a boy who would’ve seemed far too small to generate so much noise, if Iruka wasn’t a teacher. The boy was _bright_ looking, and it wasn’t just the quick energetic cleverness in his eyes and expression, it was the _bright_ orange jumpsuit and the _bright_ yellow shock of hair on top of his head. He was a year or two short of academy age, but clearly brimming with chakra— possibly too much, actually, now that Iruka could get a good look at him and feel the waver of chakra in the air around the boy, feel the way the forest’s delicate energy web was responding to him. 

How had Iruka missed his approach? Really, he must’ve been losing his edge, for someone so _loud_ to have snuck up on him.

The boy’s scowl was deepening; he’d taken a beat too long to respond. “I wasn’t talking to you, I’m sorry.” Iruka said, in the kind and serious way he always addressed children— not as if they were small adults, but not as if they were stupid either; they tended to be more capable than adults gave them credit for. “Where did you come from? Are your parents nearby?” That was a dilemma, because as much as he didn’t want to be seen, he also didn’t want to leave a child wandering around unsupervised in a forest known to occasionally harbor fearsome animals and enemy ninja. And if they weren’t— what kind of parent would let a kid wander like that, unsupervised?

The boy’s frown turned curious now, as if Iruka was a kind of strange animal. “Then who are you talking to?” he asked, volume slightly more manageable. He waved behind him vaguely, to the second question. “The castle.” His tone implied that this was both obvious, and a complete enough answer to completely clear up any further confusion.

But this was unfortunately not the case, and Iruka’s lost expression must’ve been quite legible on his face. “The castle?” He repeated, looking through the trees where the boy had gestured. “What castle?” There was certainly no castles this close to Konoha; the Daimyō’s palace was _miles_ away, and this kid couldn’t possibly be from there anyway— not fancy or mannered enough. “Who’s watching you right now?” 

The boy twisted his face in a skeptical expression, as if he thought Iruka must’ve been quite slow. “Nobody. But it’s okay!” he said quickly, at Iruka’s expression of alarm, “I’m used to being on my own!” not exactly comforting. “And Pakkun knows where I am. He sent me out here. He said there was a little lost deer I should go find except I can’t find one but I did find you and I’m hungry so let’s go get food! He’s in the castle!” All of this presented, very very quickly, in one breath, as if it was supposed to make Iruka feel more relaxed.

“I, uh.” Iruka began, mind racing to try to put together these disjointed offerings into something that made sense. “Castle?” He said again. “Is that where Pakkun is?” Whatever a Pakkun was.

Finally, he’d said something right. “Yeah!” the boy said brightly, and grabbed at Iruka’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you! It’s awesome.” 

Iruka allowed himself to be pulled, uncomfortable though it was, through a particularly dense thicket of trees and underbrush. Naruto’s smaller body could easily navigate what had to be the fine winding trails left by small game, but Iruka’s adult body was a little bulkier than a rabbit’s or even a deer’s, and it took work to dodge branches and shrubs while keeping hold of the kid’s hand. But the trail was shorter than he assumed it to be, its verdant density shadowy and deceptive; it opened up into a tract of open ground, where the trees grew with longer distance between them. The kid didn’t loose his hand, even when Iruka abruptly slowed down, caught between something like horror and surprise.

“This is the castle!” He introduced, voice as bright as his being, “It’s awesome.”

It certainly was _awe_ some, Iruka could grant it that, but it wasn’t particularly _castle-_ like. Or welcoming. Or like something someone could occupy. It was.. Something? It looked like a giant frog with strange spider-like legs, cobbled together out of metal and stone and clay and wood and quite possibly discarded objects, like an art object made by a giant’s hands. It also wasn’t still— it was moving, expanding and contracting slightly, as if it was breathing, and slowly turning on its frog-spider-like legs to face them. The lumbering care with which it moved was horrifying— this was something that was clearly not meant to be alive, but it didn’t seem to be aware of that. Its head was descending towards them, and the animal part of Iruka’s brain wanted to flee, deerlike, right back along the game trails they had just shoved their way through. “This is a castle?” He asked, his voice perhaps a bit higher pitched. 

Naruto scowled, completely unfazed by the descent of the ‘castle’’s head, which the castle rested on the ground before them, opening its wide mouth, huge and glittering and as much an assemblage as the rest of it. “Yea!” he insisted, tugging on Iruka’s hand again and leading him to the mouth. “It’s a castle! It’s big and wonderful and awesome and it has lots of rooms that I can explore and Kakashi lives there and it’s lots better than the orphanage.” 

The mention of the orphanage struck Iruka harshly, like a blow, and so he followed the boy into the mouth mutely, vaguely bemused to find that the mouth was actually a short entryway, the lower jaw a set of stairs, ending in a deceptively cheerful red door, a lantern glowing warmly beside it. The boy opened the door, charging up the second set of narrow stairs behind it, into a cozy, cluttered little room that was somehow much cooler than June forest behind them. 

Well, perhaps not little— upon reaching the top of the stairs, Iruka could see that it was not so tiny as it appeared, but the piles of _stuff_ on every counter made it seem much smaller than it actually was. Part kitchen and part living space, it was clear that this was meant to be the common area of a dwelling. Across the entire outter wall was a long stone hearth, the old-fashioned kind common to ancient houses that was meant to be cooked on. The fire was banked low, and the hearth in front of it mostly clear, but for big lumpy brown pillow directly in front of it. The other half of the room was a wide kitchen and work space, long shelves against the far wall piled high with materials for long-duration spells and seals, and relatively little food. The counters _were_ piled with food, but all of it old and mostly eaten, along with used plates and dishes and pans, probably growing a fascinating variety of mold. A huge kitchen table bisected hearth and kitchen space, piled high with yet more manner of things— more spell stuff, books, scraps of paper with scrawled notes, unattended weapons, cleaning stuff that was clearly unused.

“Have you. Er. Lived here long?” Iruka asked delicately, wondering how any child could’ve lived past toddlerhood in a place like this. The weapons sitting unattended made him twitch with displeasure, academy instincts shouting at him to _hide that immediately because armed ninja children were a special kind of dangerous even without unattended weapons-_

“Nah, just a month.” The boy responded nonchalantly, wandering to the table and plopping down on the low bench that was its seating. Thankfully, he showed no interest in the small pile of Shuriken and kunai beside him. He was _far_ more interested in the box of sugary cereal resting on its side a few feet away from them, most of its contents spread out on the table’s surface. “Are you hungry, mister? I was gonna eat lunch.” He peered inside the box, looking slightly dissatisfied, presumably at how little cereal was still left inside.

Iruka’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Sugary cereal was _not_ a good lunch, and that wasn’t the least of his concerns. “My name is Iruka.” He said, in his teacher-introducing-himself-to-a-new-class voice. “Where’s your guardian? Are they going to make you lunch?” 

The boy shrugged, totally unconcerned, grabbing a dirty bowl from elsewhere on the table and inspecting it for relative grossness. “I’m Naruto. Nah. Kakashi’s on a mission and won’t be back till tomorrow. I was gonna eat this but I dunno if there’s enough of it for both of us.” He peered back inside the cereal box “or for just me.” He eyed the table speculatively, where some of it had spilled.

Aaand that was Iruka’s line. “It’s okay.” He said quickly, “I’ll make you something else. Do you have a pantry?” That decided, he marched in a direction that Naruto gestured, to the other side of the room, momentarily ignoring a spectacular mural that had been started on the back wall. Most of it hadn’t been visible at first glance, as it partially extended into a narrow little half-room formed by a dividing wall. He’d been hoping this was the pantry, but it was merely a strange partial room with a slanted ceiling, formed by the wide staircase that opened into the other end of the kitchen. 

“Too far!” Naruto called, standing and joining him. He grabbed Iruka’s hand again, and took him to the hearth, pointing to it as if the answer was obvious. Oncemore, Iruka was confused. “It’s a pantry spell. Kakashi said it was here when he got the castle. But it’s not very smart. See, look.” He addressed the hearth with a grumpy authoritative voice, putting his hands on his hips, as if his firmness might convince the hearth to magically produce food. “Pantry, I want raman!” They waited for a long minute, and nothing happened. Iruka felt slightly helpless, like a fish out of water. Naruto sighed deeply, and looked grumpier, grudgingly taking a tone of politeness. “Pantry please give me Raman.”

This version of address seemed to work. A tray materialized in front of them, laden with food— but none of it was cooked. A huge pile of pig trotters occupied most of the tray, with vegetables beside those, and chicken feet— all the fixings to make tonkatsu broth and raman from scratch. Only the noodles, the fish cakes that shared Naruto’s name, and some pickles for garnish had been pre-prepared. “See, useless.” Naruto griped, waving at the pig feet and staring at them like they were the most vexing puzzle in the world. “Feet aren’t Ramen.” 

“They-“ Iruka started to say, and then stopped himself, becuase he did not know this child and one never knew if telling them that a favorite food actually _was_ made of boiled feet would ruin it for them. “Uh. Well. There’s stuff to make Raman on that tray,” Naruto brightened up suddenly, and so Iruka had to quickly add “But not quickly— it’ll have to cook all night. It wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow.” 

Naruto seemed a little put out, but then brightened quickly, “So we can have raman tomorrow??”

“I-“ Iruka said, reeling slightly, “Um. I don’t know if that would be okay. I don’t live here.” He glanced to the window above the sink, overflowing with dishes. “I kind of need to get somewhere safe.” He said, evasively.

Naruto waved his hand as if this was absolutely no problem at all, and went to sit back on the bench, “You can stay here. The castle is safe!” Again, another obvious fact that Iruka was silly to have missed. “Nothing can get to the castle, not even missing nin or the Hokage! I know because sometimes the Hokage wants kakashi and he tells Pakkun to make the castle go where the message hawks can’t find it.” 

This was was a bit more information than Iruka could process that particular moment— some that carried the dangerous prospect of hope, the first glimmer of it that Iruka could see since the realization that he was pregnant with an unknown ANBU’s child, that he might have a place to go and hide and wait this out, and he _desperately_ did not want to indulge that if it was going to be abruptly quashed— so instead he tilted his head at Naruto. “Well, anyway. How about sandwiches for lunch?”

Naruto didn’t seem _quite_ so enthusiastic about sandwiches as raman, but agreed readily enough, and so Iruka asked the ‘pantry’ for sandwiches— and some tea, on second thought, which surprised him by arriving already brewed, alongside jam filled cookies— and put together a fast lunch for the two of them. Naruto was happy enough with his sandwich, particularly since he was promised some of the cookies after he’d finished it. 

It was.. Comfortable, surprisingly. Which was very much _not_ how Iruka expected to feel after the nights discovery, fleeing his home and village in the dead of night, meeting a strange child in the middle of the woods, and being led into a giant frog-spider golem’s mouth to find a surprisingly cozy little living space nad a magical hearth-pantry.

But one could not indulge peaceful quiet moments around Naruto for very long, as Iruka was quickly discovering. As soon as the boy had finished his sandwich and cookies (he’d had less than zero interest in tea, but was pleased enough with juice), the topic of raman came right back up. Clearly, this was a _very_ beloved food. “So can we make raman now???” 

Iruka smiled despite himself, and glanced over his shoulder. “Well. We can, but we have to clean this kitchen first, and I’ll need your help for that.” Naruto blanched, and got that look of speculative pre-petulance that indicated he was seriously considering how effective having a fit would be in getting out of that particularly gross task. “I _will_ really need your help.” Iruka said again, firmly, “But you can have some time to relax while I get some things ready, if you want.” This seemed to mollify him slightly. “It’ll be about an hour.” Which was about as long as it would take to get the pork trotters blanched and cleaned, and then stock started boiling properly. 

This seemed to please the boy, and he nodded, running happily upstairs where he presumably had a room of his own to amuse himself. He only paused at the base of the stairs for a moment, suddenly remembering something important. “Oh! Don’t go upstairs without one of us, you’ll get lost forever unless you know how to go where you’re going!” and with that incomprehensible advice, he was upstairs in a yellow and orange flash.

Right. Well, that wasn’t actually much stranger than anything else that had happened today, so Iruka just went to the sink to begin the disgusting process of extricating a huge stockpot from the mass of dirty dishes, cleaning it, and getting the trotters blanching. 

The quiet generated by a lack of Naruto was a different kind of loud, and a much less pleasant one; his brain wanted to gravitate to his circumstances, his future, his precarity, the implications of everything that he hadn’t yet allowed himself to consider. These were _not_ things he wanted to be thinking about, and so instead he cast his mind around for something else— Kakashi. Naruto had said that name several times, and it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar— and neither, for that matter, was Naruto’s, though he could place neither of them precisely. Kakashi’s was slightly easier, because the man was a certain kind of famous. A well-known jonin in the village, renown for his fighting skill, subject of many terrifying legends. His name came up from time to time among Iruka’s friends— another pang at the thought of them, already missing them keenly, and he didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts either— but Kakashi’s name was mostly in the kind of rumors and complaints that were normal fior his friends, since many of them were jonin too, and went on missions regularly. Iruka _didn’t,_ and thus-far he only taught the youngest ones at the academy, and so he didn’t have much cause to pay attention to most of the jonin if they weren’t directly friends of his or the parents of his students. If anything, the man’s name came up _less_ frequently than Iruka might expect, and Kakashi’s official file was also thin and basically blank— neither notable nor surprising, since both facts indicated that he was probably ANBU, and very active. But again, that was like tons of nin in the village, and left Iruka’s actual knowledge of Kakashi in the basically-nothing range. He couldn’t quite place an image to the face.

It was disappointing to have so little information; he didn’t know if Kakashi would let him stay, or if Kakashi was the kind of jonin who could take care of a small child. Most of them, Iruka knew, couldn’t, even the parents. “Most jonin can’t take care of a houseplant.” He sighed aloud, dumping the trotters into the freshly cleaned and filled stock pot and starting the heat, “much less a small child.”

For the second time that day, Iruka was answered aloud by a voice he hadn’t expected to hear: this time, through a yawn, a feminine voice “Oh I don’t know, he does alright with Naruto.” 

Iruka did _not_ jump out of his skin this time, as what he’d initially mistaken for lumpy brown pillow unfolded itself and stretched— it was a dog, who’d been laying in front of another smaller dog, blocking the second from view. The larger was red and white, slim and willowy but for a roundness to her belly, head and neck covered in bandages. She was the one who’d spoken; she jumped off the hearth and went over to where Naruto’d been sitting, inspecting the table for crumbs and scraps of interesting people food that the boy might’ve spilled. 

The smaller dog came to the end of the hearth, but didn’t jump— he sat, inspecting Iruka with sharp eyes. “You do too.” He said, with a voice far more gravely than Iruka would’ve expected from a dog so small.

These were ninken—dog summons, one of many magical animals who were also kind of demon, binding themselves to ninja through contracts to mutually cultivate power and prestige. “Better than Boss, too.” The female agreed, wagging her tail. “I’m Ūhei. That’s Pakkun. Pleased to meet you.” 

“Likewise.” Iruka said automatically, moving to the bench on the other side of the table and regarding the dogs. He had so many questions, but none of them were finding their way to words. He settled on the most recent: “Boss is Kakashi?” The dogs nodded. “But he does take good care of Naruto?” with side eye towards the still-exposed kunai and shuriken. 

“He tries.” Uhei responded. “Pups are hard, and he doesn’t have any. Or hasn’t had any before. But he does well enough.” She repeated.

“Naruto’s a good kid.” The other dog, Pakkun, supplied, “If loud. And boisterous. But Boss does well, considering it’s his first pup. Like your—“ whatever he’d wanted to say next was cut off, never given voice, despite the pug’s mouth moving. Pakkun scowled, frustrated, and tried again. “The— since you— because you’re—“ no combination worked, and so the pug closed his mouth for a long moment, grudgingly impressed, and tried one last time, “Uhei’s not going to be the only one with small mouths to feed for the first time, soon. Clever, by the way, that seal you made.” 

Well, at least it worked. But that would have to be a comfort later— Iruka stiffened, a thrill of panic flooding him— if these dogs knew— how could these dogs knew? He found out this morning and hadn’t told anyone— 

“We can smell it.” Uhei said, reading his expression, “Because we know——“ and now it was her words that evaporated, embargoed by seal, and her turn to look bemused and mildly impressed. “Well, anyway. Kakashi probably _could_ use your help, you know.” She had apparently decided to swear off any kind of subtlety. “And Naruto wants you to stay.”

“This isn’t Naruto’s house.” Iruka pointed out, hunching his shoulders slightly, as if to ward off the overwhelming implications of both staying here, and of not.

“Well,” Pakkun said, “In some ways it is. That’s the other reason you should stay here— If that clever seal’s any indication, we might have use of your skills.”

Iruka blinked, curious despite himself. “What do you mean?”

“There’ll be time for that later.” The pug responded, “Right now, your feet are boiling over.”

It was true: the stock pot full of trotters had come to a boil much faster than Iruka had realized, and he jumped to his feet, cursing as he ran to the pot— time to clean the trotters out and get them re-boiling, before he called Naruto down the stairs, and, at the very least, they made this living space somewhat habitable. The ninken watched, amused and mildly hopeful— perhaps some of those feet might find themselves unattended long enough to become a snack, somewhere in the long boiling process…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These ages are loose, but i'm imagining Naruto in the wheelhouse of like 9 or so, Iruka's 22ish, Kakashi's 26-7ish. In this AU, the demon fox attack basically got all but the most advanced kids at the academy delayed a year, after which point Iruka did normal mission work and tried to hack it as a chuunin, before his seals skills got developed enough to allow for greater access and also greater liability. He has just finished his first year at the academy, and has been doing mission desk for a couple years before that.
> 
> -42


	3. And I come back changed, I can feel it in my bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe this was a silver lining to his new vigilante house-cleaning baby-sitting home invader"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little short chapter really quick. This is a pretty fast clip for me to be doing this writing, btw, but I don't want to be giving anyone false impressions regarding a posting schedule; this fic is total self-indulgence, and that is strategic-- I have a very bad habit of abandoning projects I'm interested in as soon as they start to feel like chores/work/responsibility, or otherwise start generating a lot of anxiety regarding their reception or perceived responsibilities. >> Which i basically say to indicate that my posting schedule is going to be largely determined by my attempts not to let this project wander into that territory. I appreciate the patience of anyone who decides to keep reading.
> 
> It probably also helps that I'm procrastinating on work responsibilities.
> 
> Anyway, thank you very very much for the kudos, and for the comments! As mentioned previously, I have some p significant social anxiety, so I haven't quite worked up the bravery to respond, but I did read them and they gave me warm fuzzies.  
> I will keep reading them, though it may take me a minute.

The gray pre-dawn of the forest outside of Konoha was not quite cold, at this time of the year, but it was nonetheless damp and uncomfortable, particularly when one was returning from a long post-mission debrief. The Third had been slightly distracted and already awake, when Kakashi had returned from a solo information gathering S-rank, and had called him into the office immediately— “You will learn all manner of ways that children can make you worry” he’d supplied to Kakashi’s questioning glance, and so Kakashi assumed it was something to do with his grandson— but he nonetheless focused enough to ask Kakashi direct questions about the S-rank mission, with particular attention on the subtle signs of troop movement that Kakashi had observed in the Land of Wind.

Which made sense— nin were one thing, but if the Daimyo of Wind was directing his Samurai to move from place to place, the tenuous recovery of Konoha could get a lot more complicated than it already was. It could be nothing— war games, internal fortification, training— or it could be the beginning of a very bad situation. Kakashi could probably expect more missions out that way in the future— not his favorite prospect in the world, with two of his pack unavailable and with (how strange the world) an adopted child waiting for him at home— but Duty was Duty, particularly since he could no longer serve as ANBU.

And speaking of home— Kakashi’s hand paused on the knob of the castle’s door, standing in the frog-spider’s mouth, feeling a change in the wards as they washed over him to verify who he as. Something was different, but the wards were also intact and showed no sign of forced alteration or danger, and these were wards far more advanced and reactive than anything he could make. The discovery put him on edge, in that specific curious way that every new discovery about the ‘castle’ did, and he opened the door quietly, uncertain what he would find.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it was _not_ what greeted him.

The room wherein he and Naruto did most of their living smelled _good_ — that was the first thing he noticed, as he walked up the short flight of stairs, into the room proper. A delicious, meaty, rich smell— the thing responsible for the smell was also responsible for a quiet persistant bubbling noise: a pot on the stove, bubbling away. Definitely _not_ the work of Naruto or the dogs.

Neither was the fact that he could see the pot— it was, in fact, the only pot or dish that he could see. Everything else had been cleaned and put.. Well, not all over the counters. It made the room almost unrecognizable, absent that particular kind of negligent decoration.

He was slightly less thrilled that the other objects were carefully arranged and put up too— spell components tucked away on the long shelves, books piled neatly on the edge of the counter, his weapons carefully piled there too, high above where a child of Naruto’s age could reach (though Naruto was the kind of clever that nothing would stop him, if he ever _did_ decide he wanted some of those Kunai, except for the wards Kakashi had placed on the pile).

Which, that was the big question— what about the wards? Because they were all intact, anad further, Kakashi could very clearly see the likely party responsible for all of this: a man with long dark hair, fast asleep, head in crossed arms on the table, slumped at the bench closest to the fire. Ūhei was sprawled out on the rest of the bench beside him, her long body balanced with that strange kind of automatic elegance she tended to display, her head in the stranger’s lap, nose nestled right up against his belly. They were both drooling.

It would be cute, if there wasn’t a stranger in his house, who’d apparently cleaned it and convinced one of his ninken that this was a totally appropriate thing to do when one didn’t know the owner. 

_< <Technically you don’t own it.>>_ The voice was Pakkun’s gravely rumble, but it was spoken mentally, thanks to that specific connection they had as bound Demon and Nin-wizard; not a trick they often bothered with outside of missions, but Pakkun was clearly trying not to wake either of the others. Interesting to know— that this stranger had also won that much approval from Pakkun as well. 

_< <Technically I do. Sort of. Part of it.>> _He responded in the same mode, walking over to the stove and opening the lid of the simmering pot briefly. Pig trotters, chicken feet, a vegetable medley, deliciously pale and clear broth. << _Tonkotsu Broth? >> _This smelled like Naruto all over. Except, well, literally— literally, Naruto did not usually smell great. It was very hard to get that kid to bathe. The joys of fatherhood that Kakashi had not been expecting.

The thought gave him a pang, because Kakashi _should’ve_ been more familiar with it by now, if he hadn’t fucked up, hadn’t been a coward, hadn’t betrayed his sensi. 

Pakkun wasn’t the sort to let him indulge unproductive angst, however. The pug jumped off the hearth, his toes clicking lightly on the wooden floor. << _Yep. Naruto wouldn’t leave it, when he learned that Raman was possible. But Iruka is very capable. Even got the kid to help clean and take a bath. >>_

Kakashi scowled at this, re-lidding the pot and glancing over at the stranger. << _I take it_ he>> Kakashi nodded to the sleeping man at the table _< <is Iruka?>> _

Pakkun snorted in amusement. << _Smart one, aren’t you. Yea, that’s Iruka, boss. >> _

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. << _How’d he get break the wards? Or did you let him in? >>_

This caused Pakkun to grow serious and speculative, a shift Kakashi could feel in the Pug’s thoughts even before he gave them voice. Pakkun was puzzled about something too, which made the situation more curious. << _He didn’t break the wards. >>_ the pug answered slowly, carefully considering his words << _And I did not.. Oppose his entry, I suppose would be the best way to say it. But the castle went and found him, and let him in itself. It was operating on its own, there, very little guidance from me. >> _Pakkun did not sound entirely comfortable, and Kakashi could understand that— this golem was powered by forces old, powerful, and poorly understood, and that yielded.. Strange results sometimes. A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough to learn its secrets— several lifetimes wouldn’t, considering the book he’d found on the table when he walked inside for the first time, entries written in many different hands over many different centuries, the most recent in Minato’s familiar scrawl. One month was barely enough time to figure out what the thing was capable of on a very basic level, certainly not enough time to even scratch the particular surface of _how_.

<< _Do you ever think it’s not the wisest decision for us to live in an ancient golem made of magic and jutsu so old nobody understands it and it blinds my Sharigan to try? >> _Kakashi asked, voice wry, as he directed his gaze to the half-finished mural on the far wall. 

Pakkun snorted, amused. << _Not like we have a choice. But he’s fine, Boss. Iruka, I mean. Did well by Naruto. Who’s asleep in the alcove, by the way; you’ll need to put him to bed when you go. >>_

Kakashi shook his head, turning his scowling gaze to the pile of his weapons, carefully moved out of grasping child hands. The castle and the dogs liked Iruka well enough, but this was a stranger in his house, who had moved his things, and he was territorial enough as a Jonin to find that uncomfortable and invasive. << _I still want to know how he broke the wards. >>_

Pakkun’s mind sent a flash of wordless frustration; the pug had never suffered fools well, even when the fool was his beloved human. << _He_ didn’t _break the wards. I told you. And that’s the thing. They let him in. They changed for him. Recognized him as one of their own. One of us. He’s pack, Kakashi. >>_

That was not a word any of the ninken used lightly. Pack had been just him and the dogs and several houseplants for so, _so_ long. Expanding the word to include the child son of his former sensei was stressful enough— now there was a stranger, too, who was one of them, for reasons none of them understood. And it hadn’t been Kakashi that made offered the designation this time, which.. Strange. Not good strange. But this thing with the wards— he had so many questions, questions that might prove useful to understand the castle. He approached Iruka’s sleeping form, considered waking the man up, and stood over him for a moment, examining. He considered using the sharigan, but in the house that promised a headache: too much old chakra and magic, everywhere, intertwined and fueling the thing. The regular eye would do.

Iruka was not unattractive. Actually, quite beautiful— dark skin over a muscled, slightly stocky frame _._ Chuunin rank, academy teacher, seen him at the mission desk from time to time, didn’t really do missions, never spoken to him— facts Kakashi’s brain supplied.But clearly Iruka kept up with his training, missions or not. His hair was thick and dark, pulled back in a ponytail that was starting to come loose in sleep, individual strands draping haphazardly across neck and face. There was a long scar across his face, from cheek to cheek, crossing his nose. Kakashi wondered what color Iruka’s eyes were, if they were as warm and pleasant as the rest of him appeared to be. << _Do you have any idea why? >>_ he asked the pug, deciding to let the man sleep, moving instead off towards a closet on the left side of the stairs. There were blankets in there, and a cot— though, upon opening it, he noticed the cot was missing; probably set up for Naruto. 

<< _He—— . ——. It’s——. >> _Kakashi might’ve thought that Pakkun was refusing to answer him, if it wasn’t for the fact that he could feel mental words trying to form, and finding some sort of block that prevented them. Very strange. He cast an alarmed frown at the pug, who was scowling deeply. << _Uhei— >> _Deeper scowl, heavy frustrated sigh. << _Apparently I can’t even say in this kind of speech. There’s a seal. A complicated, clever one. >> _

Interesting to know. Kakashi took down a blanket from the closet with exaggerated care, thoughtful. Iruka apparently wasn’t a danger, but something about him was sealed so completely that not even his bound demon could express it to him in this kind of pre-linguistic speech, a very sacred and primal form of communication. << _What about Uhei? >>_

Pakkun sighed in frustration. << _They are both— it’s—— In—— >> _More blocks, more frustration. << _They are Similar. >> _he sighed, finishing lamely, and that provided no good information whatsoever.

<< _Similar. >> _Kakashi repeated, droll. << _I suppose that’s why she’s sprawled out all over him like he’s her favorite person? >> _And despite the drollness, he walked delicately back over to Iruka, spreading the light blanket over the smaller man’s shoulders. Iruka murmured and shifted in his sleep, nestling into the blankets without waking; Kakashi felt warm, and then thoroughly ambivalent, and decided he didn’t want to feel either of those things this early in the morning, and so went to the alcove to check on Naruto. 

He expected to find Naruto sprawled out on top of a plain cot, having done the thoroughly Naruto thing of running himself ragged until he more or less literally collapsed into a heap of unconscious small child, and stayed that way, until he’d somehow recharged enough kid batteries to do it all over again.He felt fairly certain that the latter part of his guess was definitely true, but the kid had clearly been put down for a nap deliberately; his shoes were neatly tucked on the floor beside the cot, and he was covered in blankets that he’d since mussed up; the cot had been made up properly, like a bed. Hm. 

Pakkun had followed him to the alcove. << _He’s good with this pup, Kakashi. >>_ the pug said, frankly, no more sarcasm or teasing. << _He teaches pups for work, he said. He knows things about human pups that none of us know. No sense refusing help when we need it. And. >> _the droll tone re-entered his voice, << _He’s good with seals. >>_

Kakashi directed a sharp glance and a sigh at the pug, catching the implication— that probably meant whatever seal was responsible for the secret Pakkun couldn’t even mentally give voice to, Iruka was the one who had made it. Iruka had a secret that _he_ didn’t want to share, it wasn’t someone else’s binding preventing it from being spoken. Good to know. 

Kakashi filed that way with all the other information he’d learned, because it was too early in the morning to spend much more time fussing about this, especially if Pakkun was clearly lobbying for Iruka to stay. He hadn’t slept in 36 hours, and he needed to remedy that situation, and he decided to accept, at the very least, that this stranger who had somehow broken into his house and gone on a vigilante cleaning spree— with his sentient house’s _permission—_ meant no harm to anything but his tried and true “organization by not giving a shit” strategy. Everything else, he’d worry about later. 

Very gently, he picked up Naruto, trying not to wake the boy— which wasn’t really hard, because Naruto slept like a pile of rocks until It Was Time To Be Awake— and wandered up the stairs; he’d put Naruto to bed in the room that actually was Naruto’s, and then retire to his own room, re-call the rest of the pack, sleep the sleep he deserved after a mission. Everything else could wait until morning— or, even better, until late afternoon. 

Maybe this was a silver lining to his new vigilante house-cleaning baby-sitting home invader; maybe now he could keep to his own sleep schedules, instead of Naruto’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more technical notes.  
> I do have a lot of world building written out in docs, but I'm exposing it only when things come up in the story. Also, I am laying out a bunch of plot, _but_ I'm also more interested in pleasantly mundane aspects of this world and this story. Sooo we're not quite PWP but we will definitely feel like it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, have an excellent day~!
> 
> -42


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "done" is a quality all of its own.  
> no other notes today. Until next time, and thanks for reading.
> 
> -42

At some point in the small hours of the morning, Iruka roused enough to remove himself from what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable position hunched up on the table. A blanket draped over his shoulders fell to the ground, and he blinked at it in tired confusion, not quite awake and thus not quite sure why a blanket falling off of his shoulders seemed as odd as it did. He shrugged, standing and cringing at some tension in his muscles— been some time since he’d fallen asleep at a desk, leant over to grab the blanket, and shuffled over in the direction of the back of the hearth room, where he vaguely remembered a bed was. It probably had a small child in it, though, so he had to check on the small child..

Iruka, earlier that day, had actually set up the cot for himself— but, of course, when Naruto had been dozing off at the table, he’d put the kid in the cot instead, not wanting to risk whatever mystery was above the stairs. Naruto was no longer in the bed, though; the covers were undone, but his shoes were still at the end of it, and so Iruka assumed that the kid had already wandered up to his own bedroom. That was as far as Iruka’s sleepy brain was willing to go, so he just shuffled out of his shirt and underneath the cover, quite keen to go right back to the sleep he’d temporarily left. Cots weren’t the highest comfort in the world, but they were miles above sleeping while seated at a table, like he was back in class.

Pressing his back up against the wood of the farthest back wall, beneath the gestural mural, Iruka was surprised to feel something both familiar and not: deeply embedded old charka, the kind that had once originated from a human— or rather, several humans— but now had the life of its own, the way you ever found in _really really old_ seals that were kept carefully away from people in restricted sections of the Hokage tower, the ones said to _eat people_ in old fairy stories meant to scare children. He’d never put much stock in those stories, but had nonetheless walked among those seals with a special kind of reverence, because you _could_ almost feel the makers of the seals and scrolls across so many centuries of time. But this one, the one on the wall of the castle, there were _many_ layers to it, aggregated over a lot of time, as if magical silt. Still in that liminal half-drowsing state, Iruka reached out ot it, let himself travel the dense network of individual charka traces that formed the coherent web, let that strange silent impression of many voices talking softly to one another lull him to sleep. Most of them were strangers, but some were comfortingly familiar— Pakkun, someone who felt a lot like Pakkun (the mysterious Kakashi?), and then the ghost of an impression of Naruto, still more an observation than a proper authorial trace.

It was a good puzzle to sleep to, and it still lingered quietly in the back of his mind, when Naruto woke him up a few hours later with an excited, half-whispered and half-shouted “Is the Raman ready yet?”

——

Over the next couple weeks, Iruka learned several interesting things about himself and the castle. 

He _did_ actually recognize Kakashi— or, at least, know more rumors than he thought he had— but it had taken actually _seeing_ the jounin to connect the name and the face. Tall and pale, yes, but snow-pale, _very_ recognizable. Kakashi had stood in Iruka’s line before at the mission desk, one of the Jounin who turned in absolutely illegible and unacceptable mission reports (not remotely unusual for Jounin), and also one of the ones who seemed to find his _very firm_ refusal of the reports as more amusing than intimidating (somewhat less unusual, but still not unusual enough to really stick in the memory. Jounin were frustrating.) But this tall-pale-kakashi was rumored to have special terrifying skills, elite in ANBU (both already things Iruka knew from the empty state of his dossier); he also had a reputation for conflictory mix of coldness and casualness. It still wasn’t more than a vague sketch of dubious veracity, and it was the first thing that made Iruka feel fiercely homesick, because Anko would be able to fill in all of these gaps instantaneously if she were here.

What Iruka observed, upon meeting Kakashi in the castle for the first time, certainly confirmed some of these rumors. Naruto had been excited all that morning, when they’d been finishing up the exhaustive tonkotsu process so as to have raman for lunch, because Kakashi _had gotten home finally and he could have raman too and it would be great!_ Kakashi’d come down quite late in the morning, hair mussed as if he’d literally just rolled out of bed, reading a bright orange book — the _Icha Icha_ series, which that recognition immediately brought a strong blush to Iruka’s face— and did not seem remotely perturbed to be intercepted by the sudden happily babbling orange blur that was Naruto attaching itself firmly to his middle. (Iruka might’ve thought that the cool-and-casual attitude was all there was to Kakashi, that he was a shallow tray and those were the contents, if it wasn’t for a flash of warmth he’d seen when Kakashi looked down at the boy and ruffled the shaggy yellow mane before slowly extracting himself from the limpet-like grasp.)

But to Iruka he’d been much more standoffish, carefully evasive and even more carefully casual, as if coming downstairs to a stranger making one’s recently adopted son a lunch of homemade raman was a totally normal average-wednesday kind of thing, . (Which— this was a _golem_ in which existed an entire living space, so _maybe it was_ , but still, Jounin were territorial, and that Kakashi should treat this as ordinary seemed like a trap, especially when Iruka could almost feel the way his sole exposed eye lightly tracked Iruka’s movements.) 

Iruka had merely decided not to look gift horses in the mouth. Having been previously encouraged by both Naruto and the dogs, he merely informed Kakashi that he was going to be Naruto’s tutor, as if the matter was already settled. He expected objections, to be kicked out immediately, but got no particular acknowledgement in either direction; indeed, any attempt to ferret out Kakashi’s feelings towards Iruka’s intention to linger, or get permission to do the lingering, were both so precisely misdirected that Iruka would’ve been impressed, if it wasn’t such an anxious situation.

Iruka, infamous for his fiery temper, mostly avoided exploding in frustration in these early weeks— but more out of deep respect for the way Kakashi reacted to Naruto than anything else. Initially _deeply unimpressed_ with the jounin’s parenting skills, he’d been serious about being Naruto’s tutor— so recently left to rot under the auspices of the Orphanage, Naruto appeared incapable of all but very basic reading and writing, was well behind in math, did chakra control (of a frighteningly large body of charka for one so young) largely by intuition, and was more or less totally undisciplined in physical skills he’d expect of most pre-genin who intended to enter the academy. He’d assumed Kakashi would continue a softer version of this neglect— Jounin of his status were inevitably busy— but while Kakashi _did_ go out for long periods of time, he also seemed very aware of the risks that this posed to the continuing education of his Ward, and had apparently made occasional arrangements with friends of his to watch the boy on some of those days. Iruka knew only tangentially more about Gai than he knew about Kakashi— generally good things, in terms of reliability and temperament (also ‘very strange’, but that was par for the course with Jounin)— but he seemed a great choice for some of the physical discipline training, and for the more pragmatic concern of ‘wearing out a small child whose normal state of operation was wanton hurricane of enthusiastic destruction’.)

When Kakashi _was_ around, he was oddly patient with the energetic child, if clearly also out of his depth and with a somewhat eclectic teaching style. Kakashi taught Naruto primarily by leaving things out for him to find and investigate on his own— sometimes pictures of hand signs and stances and chakra pathways, the last of which Naruto could almost certainly _not_ read but scowled at nonetheless— or else the materials for spells, and small magical devices. The results of this teaching were frequently fascinating, and a clever if slightly haphazard way of handling a child for whom traditional teaching methods were clearly inappropriate. 

Iruka also learned more about the strange castle— but not about any of the things he wished to learn, like what was upstairs or anything regarding the mural, Kakashi always going mysteriously deaf to any questions Iruka posed on that subject, conveniently always _just then_ absorbed in an apparently _enthralling_ section of _Icha Icha._ Rather, Iruka learned by observing the tall man’s comings and goings. 

The main door did not only open into to the golem’s mouth, currently located in teh forest outside Konoha. There was a small lantern, mirrored to the one outside, but with four different colors of glass on each of its faces. Iruka had thought nothing of either the lantern or the door until the first time Kakashi had taken Naruto to see Gai— Iruka’d glanced over as they left, expecting to see the forest outside the door, but instead Kakashi twisted the lantern so that the green glass lit the little doorway, and when that door opened, it opened into a wide fenced lawn of the type common in the old elite shinobi familial compounds, with the recognizable silhouette of Hokage tower in the distance. Kakashi had glanced over at Iruka’s staring, his single visible eye forming the expression that Iruka was coming to understand as ‘probably an amused smile’. 

(Iruka was pretty sure that the reason for the smile was because Kakashi knew the lack of an actual answer to the implied question would frustrate Iruka.)

“Has it always done that?” Iruka asked Pakkun after once they had gone, rushing to the door to curiously investigate. He opened it again, looking out into the distance of Konoha. Close, open— still Konoha. 

“Yeah.” Pakkun answered, preoccupied by gnawing on raw bone and some fatty scraps Iruka put out for him at breakfast (the pug looked so _thin_ all the time, no matter how much he seemed to eat), “It did it when we got this place, but Kakashi had to figure out how to set each color.” This made only tangentially more sense than any of the evasions he’d gotten from Kakashi, but he took this answer in good faith— none of the dogs could answer his questions about the castle clearly, though for them it was less unwillingness and more a general inability to communicate the ideas in a way Iruka could understand, the experience of magic and seals being fundamentally very different to a demon’s perspective than a human’s. 

A few more attempts opening and closing the door, and nothing changed— Konoha in the distance— so Iruka reached up and twisted the lantern back to its clear face. Now the door opened to the forest, visible as a moving blur around the perpetually slightly-open mouth of the frog-spider golem. It only put its head down to let people in or out of the castle proper, anad at other times it moved around with surprisingly smooth motion (Iruka would’ve expected swaying or bouncing, but there was fairly little) as if a living being, the jaw’s angle and teeth forming a sort of balcony on which one could stand and watch the apparently-aimless trajectory of the golem’s progress through the trees. 

The third lantern color was purple, and opening the door there brought a burst of noise and spice-smell— but it also took him a long moment to place the location on the other side. There was another fenced in yard, smaller and with stone cobbles instead of grass, more like that associated with an urban manor house than a family’s ancestral compound, with higher metal fences separating it from a city that was much much closer to the yard’s gates than one would find in Konoha. Outside the fences were the bustling movements and sounds of a market, with all the strange spiced food smells one would expect from a locale that drew people from all the surrounding countries. 

“Where..?” Iruka asked, he began to ask, before catching sight of a watchtower in the distance, “Is this the capital?” He’d never actually _been_ there before, having never taken a mission that brought him quite this way, but those towers were iconic in the land of fire.

“Yep.” The pug answered, almost totally uninterested— his teeth scraping the edges of the raw bone, working the marrow out of the center. “Wish I could see it again.”

Iruka frowned, closing the door and reaching for the lantern, to turn it to the shuttered side, the last direction to investigate. “Don’t- not that one.” The pug said sharply, and Iruka’s hand retracted as if burned, because Pakkun had never used that tone with anyone before to his hearing. Pakkun went back to gnawing, with no further acknowledgment of the shuttered face, answering the first question. “Yea, can’t leave. The others can”— Pakkun usually meant the other dogs when he referred to ‘the others’, —“but I can’t.”

Iruka frowned, puzzled. “Why? According to who? Kakashi?” That seemed a strange stricture to place on a demon summon, particularly one traditionally oriented to combat and tracking like ninken; perhaps Pakkun was meant as a home guardian? But still, it seemed a dangerous and cruel restriction on any bound entity, _especially_ ones typically cherished as symbiotic and connected to their nin with bonds deeper than family.

“No,” Pakkun answer with a sigh, “and I don’t know. The castle. But I can’t leave.” There was old frustration in the pug’s voice, a kind of exhaustion that Iruka knew preceded periods of sulking and monosyllabic answers from the dog-demon, and lots of sympathetic mooning from Uhei, so Iruka left it alone. Instead, after some bored puttering, both curious and stir-crazy, he opened the purple-lit door again and tentatively went out to explore the capital city and the market, hesitant and wary of any nin who might recognize him, but also spurred to Get Out Of The Damn House and perhaps use his only cash to buy some extra clothes. Even the durable shinobi uniforms couldn’t withstand _constant_ use, and he was uncomfortably aware that they would start getting physically restrictive sooner rather than later. It was a short excursion, but it was _something._

Iruka could sympathize with Pakkun; the castle was interesting and the magic was warm and comforting to him, but it was also a tiny slice of the world, and being unable to leave would make even a palace into a prison. 

It was an tense and lingering thought Iruka found discomfitingly familiar. He, too, was restless and deeply uncomfortable, physically and mentally— but not because he was tied down to the castle. It was almost the inverse, actually; Iruka was in a period of rapid transition, awkward and strange in so many ways, and he had nowhere that really felt _secure_ , _reliable. Sustainable._

He’d put himself in a social position that left him extremely vulnerable. Iruka had always depended on his family— including those chosen and adoptive— for so many forms of support, and for access to sources of information. It was a source of solace that he’d removed from himself, without fully thinking of what the consequences would be when he’d thrown himself to the winds and the forest, getting lost among the trees. In many ways, the situation had worked out better than he could’ve dared hope— he’d been looking for a place to lay low, be safe while his body grew his family-- and he’d found somewhere warm and fascinating and with food, somewhere he was.. Well. Where several of the residents welcomed him. 

But he also didn’t know where he stood with the one resident whose decree actually meant he could _stay_. 

At this point, Iruka figured he’d’ve probably been thrown out after the first night, if he was unwelcome (and Pakkun had said as much with much less patience, willing to tolerate only a little brooding and whining), but that still felt like wishful thinking, too good to be true, neither firm nor stable, particularly since Kakashi was so hard to _read_. This situation seemed precarious. This wasn’t _home_ , even if he could imagine it being home with an ease that also frightened him, for entirely different reasons.

And as good as the dogs were, and as much as he was coming to love Naruto with a fierceness like the boy was his own child, neither the dogs nor Naruto were the same as Anko or Asuma or Sarutobi, who he could ask for advice or lean on for support. For that, he needed— at the very least— an adult human, and the only other adult human spent most of his time reading porn, either teasing Iruka or ignoring him completely, and slid out of giving any firm answers with evasiveness a veteren spy would admire. 

Which meant that Iruka had to deal with the physical changes and fears alone. It would’ve been enough to drive him back to the arms of family in Konoha,—a decision he almost made several times already, as the panic that had driven him out of his door faded into a low vibration in the back of his mind— if it weren’t for theexisting danger _and_ an additional unanticipated problem of his own making. 

There was good reason that people took months to design seals, that the advice was never write one quickly, especially in moments of panic, if you could help. Chakra was _alive, a_ kind of magic that came from people, the essence of a person that could be spun off to generate specific effects. Jutsu used it immediately, in ways that dissipated quickly or in very specific capacities, constrained in their manifestations. Seals, on the other hand, were stored repositories of self-sustaining chakra, with only the shape of the seal to direct them. Complex seals, biomedical seals, seals that used or channeled a lot of chakra or did multiple things— they were not only alive, but capable of an extremely limited kind of thought _._ One had to use care because, unless directed in _very_ precise ways, that chakra _would find ways to exercise itself,_ particularly the longer it stayed out in the world, active and operational. They could quite easily be very very dangerous. Most people didn’t bother with complicated seals for good reason.

But Iruka did, had always been drawn to them, and usually his experimentation worked out well— it had not yet harmed anyone, anyway, even if sometimes the seals did things in strange ways. 

Iruka’s body was changing, in small and deeply uncomfortable and completely predictable ways. He ‘d developed a habit of constantly eating peppermints, struck by unpleasant waves of nausea at inopportune moments that made it hard to eat most other things; Naruto, thinking this was just a kind of candy that Iruka liked, had begun bringing them back to Iruka whenever he spent the day in Konoha with Kakashi or Gai. (Cute, and embarrassing, and that came with a wave of strange loneliness— a kind of want, that he _wanted_ to be in Konoha with Naruto and the others too, that he _wanted_ to be someone for whom this kind of thoughtfulness from Naruto was completely ordinary, a reflection of a familial relationship— all wants that he wasn’t particularly prepared to think about right then.) 

Iruka also slept a lot, frequently tired, frustrating when he was trying to be the tutor to a child with limitless energy. He wanted strange foods— this he had expected— but he was also suddenly repelled by things he normally enjoyed, like candied ginger-- a former favorite candy, and his preferred anti-nausea remedy. 

He felt strange in his own skin, slightly paranoid, running internal checks on himself and the child regularly, and worse because he _couldn’t talk to anyone about it_ — even if someone had been available to talk to.

Because it wasn’t just his stubbornness and pride keeping him silent now (though, also yes): that night, when he’d fled, he had written a biomedical seal in fear and _applied it to two people_ , a seal that was made to respond to very subtle shifts in the humans on which it was active. He hadn’t been very careful when he’d drawn the shape of the seal’s constraints. 

His first seal, the one that replaced regular injections— that one was working perfectly, carefully designed and protected from others seals’ and tailored specifically to his needs. It was adjusting the levels of his hormones quite neatly, humming happily along— good, because Iruka did not know how to monitor such subtle things that might be dangerous to the baby. This was the seal that had proved his talent, and that the talent was nested in care and ability and research. If he’d been an apprentice at the time, it would’ve earned him the title of master.

One could make the argument that the other seal was also reflecting his talent— although more in how much harm it _wasn’t_ doing, given the lack of parameters. But seals were alive, and it was beginning to _do things_ he hadn’t intended. He had designed it to prevent “direct discussion by all but parties directly involved,” and he had written it in a moment of fear, deeply deeply terrified that someone might learn about the situation and take the baby away from him, use it to harm others and itself. The seal had responded accordingly, casting a wide net of restriction— _Iruka himself_ could not mention his pregnancy directly in front of the dogs, suddenly afflicted by the same voicelessness as they had been initially when talking to him. 

He’d waited until he was alone to test this further. Iruka had always enjoyed long baths and long showers, and he typically waited until nobody was home to indulge (after having spent a long time making sure the castle’s bathroom was in a state to allow for such things, which had itself been no small project). On one of these days, he’d stood naked in front of the long mirror, inspecting himself closely, tracing over the careful lines of the second seal that were as much memory as the ghost of visible marks, trying to remember _how_ he’d written it (as important as _what_ was written), and how he’d been thinking at the time. 

Here, in a strange bathroom inside a strange living house, he could talk to himself quietly about concerns and questions and curiosities regarding the pregnancy, but only if nobody else could hear him, only in low tones. The restriction was on him as well— presumably, the only person with whom he could talk about this was the actual father, if he could figure out who that even was. _Not_ Sarutobi, his adopted father. _Not_ Anko, his best friend and basically sister. _Not_ a medical nin, should there be complications. 

And, of course, he had forgotten to write in a break clause, or a restrictions about in whose energy and how the seal could root itself and grow; it had now firmly intertwined with his own chakra, the baby's chakra, and the physical and energetic connection between them. It would break safely in birth, on its own, and not a moment before. As a trap, it would've been clever and vicious; as a protective charm, the seal left something to be desired. 

It _hurt_ , both for the isolation and for it have been so foolishly self-imposed.

But while Iruka did tend to linger in the experience of his emotions, he was also a relentlessly pragmatic soul, and he allowed himself to feel overwhelmed for only a little while, before turning his head to what _needed to be done._ Because all of this meant that he needed to familiarize _himself_ with a great many things that were outside his wheelhouse, in what was already the fairly unusual circumstance of a transmasculine pregnancy. 

And for that he needed books and information, which were also hard to find. 

The long, soothingly-scented soak he’d taken immediately thereafter made him feel a little better, as did the reminding himself that the dogs knew, even if they couldn’t talk about it. This was a challenge, but a surmountable one.

It took him several more days before these concerns finally made him approach Kakashi for any kind of help. (asking for help was something he was terrible at for the best of times; that was why Anko was so good, because in her own way she was quite aware of the emotions of people around her, and would force Iruka to accept help whether or not he wanted it; he missed her _keenly._ )The excursion to the market he’d taken to stymy the surge of stir-crazy, to take the edge off the inexplicable gnawing _want_ of _something_ that he did not understand and did not want to think about, had been a nice distraction, but the uneasy restlessness and refusal to be a passive actor in his own fate eventually did manage to overcome his pride and his uneasiness about Kakashi. This was a big ask, because it edged on information that Iruka wasn't comfortable offering-- that he wasn't capable of offering- information that already hung, wordless and heavy,between them.

(Kakashi had been taking Naruto to Konoha for that first time when Iruka had been curious about the door; they'd been most of the way out, Kakashi still looking amused, when Iruka had blurted "Please don't tell anyone that I'm here." They’d paused in the doorway, Kakashi very slightly stiff and Naruto very obviously curious and about to ask a series of unthinking questions. 

The fractional second that Kakashi took to mull the request stretched across a particular sick-nauseous span of time that had nothing to do with Iruka stomach, before the tall man gave an imperceptible nod, “We’ll be careful not to say anything, right Naruto?” This clearly to impress on the boy that this was important, so the question trying to fight its way out of Naruto’s mouth became an adorable huffwhine, and then a “Yes I promise I wont tell.” And Iruka was merely grateful that hours later Naruto came back with energetic excitement and some shiny rocks he wanted to show off and had forgotten all about Iruka’s request that morning. Kakashi hadn’t asked again either.)

This request felt like that long moment where Kakashi had considered him, before promising to keep his presence a secret. It took some time to work up the courage, but when Iruka did, he discretely pulled Kakashi aside, asking in a low voice. “Would you be willing to do me a favor?”

Kakashi was feeling playful and generous, and recently this kind of mood manifested the careful attitude of casualness as over-the-top flirtaiton. “Ma, what kind of favor, _sensei?”_ (Kakashi had _refused_ to call him anything else when since the man had found out that Iruka taught the academy, an early version of this teasing— Iruka never failed to flush red and get quite flustered, and Iruka suspected the Jounin found this uproariously funny.) 

True to form, Iruka turned beet red, but instead of retreating or grumbling, he hissed “A serious one.” Whatever expression Kakashi made next was completely illegible to him, so he continued, trying to keep his voice low enough that neither Naruto (who was taking apart some artifact Kakashi had left out for him) nor the dogs (who were “helping”) could hear. “Would you be willing to go to my apartment in Konoha and get some books I forgot there? They’re on biomedical seals-“ Iruka stopped, because Kakashi was now making a very different unreadable expression, and this one seemed more wary, more like it was trying to figure him out, take him apart the way Naruto was taking apart the artifact. 

“That would be quite difficult.” Kakashi said, voice quiet but almost a drawl, “Given that your apartment is currently under surveillance.”

This gave Iruka a jolt, a mix of the old panic and fear and nausea, it felt almost _cold—_ “By who?” he asked, mouth going faster than his brain could stop it.

“Hard to say.” Kakashi answered, but if there was more to that conversation, it was not to be had— Naruto tripped a protection mechanism in the artifact, and leapt back with a yelp as the thing caught fire, sucking a thumb unhappily while Uhei barked displeasure at its scattered parts, and Iruka was too good a teacher of small children to ignore that kind of minor chaos.

But the sick nervous feeling stayed with Iruka for days afterwards, and the appearance, on his cot, of the precise books he’d been asking for— an encyclopedic _beast_ of a tome, and some of its shelfmates—some few days later mollified his nerves only slightly. 

At least this could answer _some_ of his questions. 


	5. I fucked with the forces that our eyes can't see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes home just shows up in your house and decides to live there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kakashi POV chapter? What is this, a crossover episode?
> 
> also i don't post when i update anywhere because doing so makes me anxious so it's a surprise oops yay?

Iruka was not the only person for whom life had recently decided to alter course in some fairly dramatic ways.Kakashi, too, had been uprooted and thrown to the wind, forced to dramatically alter his understanding of both himself and his situation. 

The difference was that, as a Jounin and recently-former-ANBU, Kakashi was somewhat used to situations that shifted dramatically without warning-- just, you know, in _lethal_ ways, which was somehow much easier and more comforting than suddenly becoming legal guardian his beloved sensei's pre-genin son-- the one that happened to carry the sealed demon fox that had destroyed so much of the city-- and inheriting the same beloved sensi's obscure-and-extremely-dangerous-magical-artifact-slash-sentient-house. 

“Beloved sensei" was also starting to become a category of person that needed some additional specification.

Kakashi normally handled dramatically shifting situations by _not_ thinking about them, reacting quickly and focusing on only what was required to predict likely outcomes and formulate a response. He was an ex-ANBU-commander, Genius, battle hardened, flung willingly into that brutal lifestyle at six without hesitation or regret. Frankly, he hadn't expected to live long enough to cultivate strategies for reacting to chaos _outside_ of battles and missions-- and certainly not when there were other people's emotional lives and well-being on the line. 

Dependent on him. 

That he was directly responsible for. 

In a more than prevent-them-from-getting-killed kind of way.

Whiiich was why he was lurking outside the walls of his family's ancestral compound, looking disreputable and out of place, despite the fact that _technically_ he owned the place. As always, he appeared carefully bored, leaning against a tree with the traditional bright orange book in his hands; his eyes scanned words he didn't actually need to read anymore, for as deeply committed to memory as they already were. Which was their appeal, really-- familiar, something he didn't have to think about, a visual pattern his eyes could repetitively trace while his mind cast out in multiple directions and his chakra coiled around itself, preparing to be used. 

Not that he expected a fight-- not so _open_ , in the middle of Konoha, at least-- but the last two times he'd looked at the compound with the Sharigan, it had looked so much like the castle that the headache had lasted for an entire day. 

"Senpai!" Yamato's cheerful voice was a short distance away, but Kakashi didn't look up from his book until the other was almost beside him. "How is retirement treating you? As relaxing as they say?" 

Kakashi shot former teammate a _very_ editorial bored expression-- Yamato well knew how Kakashi handled long periods of mission restriction-- before putting his book away. "I'm overjoyed. All I do is fish." He said with heavy sarcasm, nodding vaguely over in the direction of the Hatake compound-- a place where he typically spent as _little time as humanly possible--_ and led the way, for all the world looking nonchalant and bored. He hadn't told Yamato with what he needed help today, but to an outsider it would look like a freshly mostly-retired Juonin and his close friend were beginning to undertake the work required to make an old family estate habitable. Iruka was not the only one being surveilled; they wouldn't be able to speak frankly until well within the wards of the estate. 

And he was not the only one aware of that, of course; Yamato continued to say nothing of consequence-- nothing not already widely known by any would-be surveillers-- until they were well within the centuries-old wards and protections of the compound, and surrounded by the other dogs of Kakashi's pack, who partially relaxing and partially counter-surveilling themselves.

“Everything's good, boss." Bull commented from his position, lounging beside a thoroughly overgrown koi pond, letting both humans know it was safe to speak more freely.

But Kakashi continued to pace slowly and pensively on pathways (crumbling into dust) through the gardens (old and overgrown) around the house (falling apart),not particularly keen to delve into the purpose for his calling Yamato here. Yamato (basically his brother) did not seemed particularly perturbed by his silence. Instead, brown-haired man asked about other life things, noting the subtle shifts in his former leader's demeanor as they ambled around a pack of playful dogs. 

"How's Naruto doing?" This Yamato asked more quietly, once they’d turned a corner behind the long house, a serious question asked in more serious tones than the one he'd used outside the gates. He was happy to see the ridiculously pleased smile that passed over Kakashi's face in an instant— one that the taller man very much tried to hide— and the sidelong glance that he very much didn't. 

"Monsterous." Kakashi drawled, but this was his happy drawl, "He runs us all ragged. I live in fear of the day he decides to try cooking." Yamato snorted at this, and at the subtext that this was _why_ the enforced retirement and S-class mission restrictions that had come along after Kakashi's ANBU cover had been blown _hadn't_ resulted in Kakashi chewing off his (or anybody else’s) limbs. 

They stopped a few seconds later in front of the central area of the house— formerly kitchens (in deep disrepair)— Kakashi with his hands in his pockets and looking slightly displeased through the bored expression. Yamato cast his eyes at the spare building, frowning; something about it didn't really feel _right._ "Is this what you wanted me to look at?" 

Kakashi nodded, "Yeah. I want you to confirm something for me. It's happening everywhere, but I noticed it here first." and he provided no more detail, only looking at Yamato with that one bored eye, unwilling to further color the other man's perception of.. Whatever it was they were investigating here. 

The smaller nodded, and assessed the building as if this were a mission. But for the strange buzz present throughout the entire compound, strongest nearer to the building of the main house (like the wards but _very much not the wards)_ , it did not seem anything outside the ordinary-- and that buzz itself wasn't particularly noticeable as anything other than an odd rhythm in ancient wards, not terribly unusual as something to develop in chakra wells this old. 

Yamato glanced over at Kakashi for permission and, receiving a nod, approached the actual door to the old dilapidated kitchens, reaching for the handle. Nothing particularly unpleasant happened when he reached out to touch with chakra ahead of fingers, or then with fingers directly-- nothing strange at all, until he slid it open on rusty hinges, to reveal-- 

More wall. 

He slid it back the other way, and still, more wall.

“Huh." Yamato said, trying a few more times, and then stepping back, frowning in deep consternation. "how long has this been going on?"

"In this spot?" Kakashi answered, with that careful calm to his voice that he took when he was uncertain about a mission, "only a few days. It started at the front of the house, slowly. It's been moving farther, and accelerating." He turned and started walking farther down the garden path, parallel to the house. Yamato followed, now paying more attention to the building beside them. 

"Is this related to that artifact you inherited from the Fourth?" Yamato asked, his voice low even in the protected bounds of the compound-- _people_ did _know_ that, upon retiring from ANBU, Kakashi's inheritance from Minato had unsealed itself, and that it had involved adopting Naruto, acquiring some kind of artifact, and inheriting a nice urban estate in the capital city-- it was the talk of the village, but beyond those most basic and tantalizing of facts, the details were carefully limited. Most thought was safe to assume that the artifact was some sort of fabulous weapon, worthy of a former “Hokage's Strength And Grace In Battle” (to quote Gai’s explanation to him at the time). Certainly, Kakashi thought wryly, nobody would be expecting something like the _castle_ , even though artifacts were notoriously complex and hard to anticipate. 

And they were dangerous, prone to doing things nobody expected.

Like, apparently, eat entire houses. 

Yamato was looking alarmed at Kakashi's wordless nod, rushing on along the garden path to a farther part of the compound's central house; Kakashi noted this with a pang of abstract, bitter amusement, and it was a marker of how extremely powerless Kakashi felt this was his primary reaction. What Yamato was doing was what he'd done weeks prior, watching as ...whatever it was began to claim parts of his ancestral estate, eating up whole rooms at a time, making them inaccessible from the estate grounds on Konoha proper. 

It wasn't the _estate_ , really, that was the problem-- Kakashi didn't care for it, mostly used it as a place to let the pack roam and get exercise. It certainly hadn't been maintained for decades, and he wasn't about to start that process now, despite his current minor affectations towards doing otherwise. The only thing in the entire place worth saving had been some of the old family technical scrolls in the library, and that set of rooms had been subsumed before he'd realized what was happening. No, at this point, it was the rate of progress that really had Kakashi worried, more for what it represented than for what it stole. 

As expected, Yamato found a section of house that still operated more or less like an ordinary house, and had thrown open the door to the dusty building. Kakashi didn't flinch, didn't cast any particular reflection that this doorway had been one in which he'd stood silently as a small child, watching people tend to the corpse of his father, carrying it away, in numb horror. Decades past and the memory still felt raw, almost new, but also as stale as the dust swirling around the empty room behind the door in disturbed eddies, unseated by the passage of fresh air. "This room's still normal." Yamato said, sounding both relieved and uneasy, stepping into swirling dust and peering towards the dark section of the house that _wasn't._ "How long do you think until it reaches this far?"

Kakashi shrugged, "I dunno. Somewhere between a week and a day."

Yamato rocked back and forth on his heels a moment, thinking, clearly tempted to try to move bodily into the empty space where once there had been house-- but he thought better of it, and joined Kakashi back on the path, glancing back at the building as if it were a sleeping monster. "What happens if you go through the blank space?" Yamato asked.

"You just end up back where you started." Kakashi said, with a shrug to Yamato's skeptical expression. "Naruto's the one who found it, the first day he was here. That's why I moved us to the castle." Which Yamato had already seen, one of the few with both the appropriate clearance and the appropriate level of chosen-familial closeness to Kakashi to be trusted to keep such secrets, "The dogs won't go near it, or the buildings, anymore, but Naruto thought the infinite loop was hilarious, until he got bored." It had been what put their relationship on a positive track, really-- Naruto's foolhardy willingness to explore everything head-first-- almost literally-- and his willingness to give Kakashi several heart attacks within a few hours of legal adoption in the process. 

Something of that day's mixed fear and frustration and grudging affection must've shown on his face, because Yamato got _that one look_ gooey look that indicated he might start gushing about Kakashi's new familial instincts enthusiastically enough to rival Gai, and while Kakashi might've been settling into this new fatherhood role with surprising pleasure, that _did not_ mean he wanted to deal with his friends giving him shit about it. "What do you think it is?" the copy-nin asked, quickly, keeping them on that track instead of the other. 

Yamato knew exactly what Kakashi was doing, Kakashi could tell by his eyes, but given the seriousness of rogue artifact magical effects, he was willingly diverted: "It's related to a seal, but that's all I can tell you. Other than to confirm you're not crazy and it really is happening.”

Kakashi snorted, rubbing his eyes. "Just what I was hoping to hear. Konoha doesn't have any seals masters." Not since the fourth, from whom he'd inherited this particular voracious device the first place. In sum, he was completely screwed.

Or- maybe only screwed, if the very specific face that Yamato was making-- the one that meant that Kakashi was only _partially_ correct, lacking some information that Yamato had-- was true. Kakashi answered with a raised eyebrow, a wordless 'explain.'

"He's not a master, technically, I think." Yamato said, shrugging, "but he did help me out with- some complications, and had some very advanced knowledge." This topic tended to stir unhappy memories for Yamato, as the compound did in its owner, and so Kakashi let him stay vague. "Iruka. The third's adopted son. But he's not in Konoha anymore; i don't think anyone knows where he is." 

Kakashi was _very good_ at his job. The best way to disguise an emotional reaction, he knew, was to use it, and so he let himself be visibly surprised, squinting curiously at Yamato, but redirected his thoughts away from 'wait, Iruka, my iruka, the one living in my house right now?' and towards a version of the surprise that didn't involve dropping someone else's secrets. "Iruka? The Chuunin? Academy Sensei?" 

Yamato shrugged, somewhat helpless to explain the why of old pre-ninjutsu power channeling. "They don't need a lot of Chakra. The really old ones aren't even Jutsu, they're just raw magic."

Kakashi sighed, and nodded, rubbing his eyes again, letting a different disappointment be visible-- he'd recently been looking into spells and magic and artifacts for partially that reason (and partially because it seemed much more within Naruto's natural proclivities than his own were.) He himself could do some of the longer-running spells-- passed on to him by his mother, and not particularly useful on missions once you' were on them, the sorts of things you set up at home before leaving-- but all of it was slow-going and hard to learn about. Jutsu was faster and more reliable, which made this all quite frustrating-- but, again, that wasn't the frustration Yamato would read on his face. (He hated lying, even by omission, to someone he loved so dearly, but these weren't _his secrets_ to share). 

"What happened to him? The Chuunin." Kakashi asked.

Yamato shrugged, "'Left for urgent family business.'" Yamato offered, with a shrug. "Rumors say a mission. So, you know, nobody knows. The third seems worried, but Iruka doesn't have do many missions, so." Another shrug, and a worried helpless one. "You could try Anko? Orochimaru did some work with seals—“ 

Kakashi didn't have to feign any oh-god-no surprise, shaking his head vigorously. Anko was a terrifying bundle of chaos, and he didn't want her near enough to the castle and his family to.. he didn't know. Anko-ify everything. "I do not need Naruto to develop a Dango addiction." 

Yamato laughed, relaxing somewhat. If Kakashi was joking, that was a tentative good sign. They started moving back to the front of the compound, but took their time, watching the dogs and the wildlife in the overgrown gardens. Bisuke was chasing rabbits, and was goading a reluctant Shiba into joining him-- it was nice, this part of not being in a constant mission churn. Would've been nicer but for the circumstances. 

"Hey--" Kakashi said, as they neared the front of the house, tapping Yamato's shoulder lightly. "Thank you. And I understand if you can't, but is there anything you can tell me about what's on?" He gave the field sign for Konoha, blocked as it was by their bodies and still invisible to the front of the compound, where less friendly forces were storing their watchful eyes. Kakashi had been shunted out of ANBU at the worst possible time, and it was frustrating to _feel_ and to _know_ that there were things afoot all around the town, and to not know anything about them. "The third has me tracking Samurai movements, and that feels as much to keep me _out_ of things here as anything else."

Yamato's expression was mixed, strained between duty of silence and want to tell his brother-of-choice things that concerned all of them. More strange moments borne of circumstance-- usually this worked the other way around, where Kakashi, as field commander, knew things that even his elite ANBU soldiers could not know. He didn't like the shift. "The third _is_ trying to keep you out of things, though the concerns about the Samurai are real." Yamato answered carefully, "But you have to know that you're next in line. You need to _not_ be involved with what's going on over here." 

Kakashi scowled, "There is no line." he grumbled, but it was mostly empty-- there wasn’t, not for the position of Hokage, and everyone knew that— just like everyone also knew that the likely candidates for Hokage were few and far between, and currently they were Kakashi and Danzo, and that the latter had already been ruled too old once before. 

"No," Yamato agreed with a sigh, not liking this any better than Kakashi did. "But you _do_ need to try to stay out of it," he repeated again, placing emphasis on the implicit instruction _not to meddle._ "Trust us. Or trust me and Gai." He grabbed Kakashi's hand again, giving it a squeeze before dropping it, a rare show of familial affection that Kakashi allowed, given how carefully Yamato respected his requirements for physical space.“Focus on the—“ he looked helplessly over at the house “whatever’s happening there. I’m going to keep an eye out, look for other seals masters. Maybe one from an allied country..”

Kakashi nodded, knowing better than to press the political issue, mind now swimming with multiple things to puzzle over. They walked the rest of the way out of the compound, leaving most of the dogs inside— only Bull came to join them outside the gates, yawning widely. “What’re you up to now, senpai?” Yamato asked, his voice back to the light teasing tones from earlier, “More fishing?”

Kakashi gave an exaggerated yawn, back to his languidly bored cat-like self, now that he was back to the watchful eyes of Konoha. “Market, I think. Isn’t that what old men do when they retire? Go to the market, fish, and complain?”

Yamato laughed, “You’ve plenty of practice with the last.” He offered cheekily, duking when Kakashi mimed throwing an object at him, and trotting off to go back to his more official duties. “See you around!” 

Kakashi offered a wave, feeling oddly bereft; that visit hadn’t been the friendly stroll it looked to be on the outside, but Kakashi nevertheless felt better for the company. It felt good to be not so achingly alone with one’s biggest problems. Yamato was trustworthy, discrete— and more helpful than he realized.

Kakashi hadn’t been lying about intending to go to market— Bull knew that, and had joined him more for want of treats than purely affection— and his thoughts were full of Iruka as he walked his way there. He’d’ve been suspicious if there was any way Iruka could’ve possibly been involved in the initial binding of the castle that had gone so terribly awry, but that had been written years previously, when Naruto was born; Iruka would’ve been still a child then. Still, it was eerie and discomfiting, how the potential solution to a problem had been living adjacent to it, operating as his adoptive son’s other f—tutor. As his adoptive son’s _tutor_.

Best not get carried away, even in his own mind. 

Though that was advice easier thought than done— Iruka was the reason Kakashi was just then approaching the sounds and bustle and brightly-colored stalls of the market in the first place. (A pleasant chaos that reminded him of a _different_ encounter with a different darker smaller man; perhaps he could have Iruka in similar ways— no, again, calm down, mind.) 

Iruka had been ordering pickles from the pantry spell, which the spell had been returning as raw materials— options that the smaller man found displeasing, to judge by Iruka scowl every time he eyed the summoned trays. It was a reaction both adorable and easy to remedy, particularly since Kakashi was willing to go out when Iruka was so reluctant to do so. Kakashi made his way over to a stall showing off truly frightening array of _things_ and _parts_ in jars of colorful liquid— the kind for eating, not the kind for spells— and peered curiously at the containers. Could he remember what kind of pickles Iruka had been requesting…? Probably one of them involved fish, he thought, which was not really his idea of good food..

“Can I help you, dear?” The old lady behind the counter took pity on his poor soul, squinting up at him from glasses that magnified her eyes. 

“Yes, uh. I guess I’d like a variety? Of normal stuff and…” he looked around at some headless small fishes floating alongside what were apparently grapes in green liquid, “and some weird stuff, I guess.”

The lady raised an eyebrow, but shrugged— variety packs were always a good sale— and kakashi was soon on his way, deceptively study cardboard box filled with a rainbow of jars in hand.

—

When Kakashi got home, it was earlier in the day than usual. He and Bull— happily carrying his own little bag of gnawing bones— were greeted at the door by Uhei (“Oh Bull will you shaaaaare?” “I Gueeeeeess,” with exaggerated reluctance.) Kakashi was worried to note that Pakkun was sleeping hard in front of the hearth— the leader of his pack was doing that far too much these days— but charmed to see both Iruka and Naruto looking at him curiously from the big kitchen table, presumably having been interrupted mid-lesson. Iruka was scowling, which only increased when Kakashi put the big box he was carrying in front of the man, right on top of the math homework that Naruto’s lackluster chickenscratch indicated the bright orange boy was not _quite_ as into as one could hope. Kakashi was also happy to be greeted by bear-hug from said bright orange boy, still seated, as he passed by. (“KAKASHI, YOU’RE BACK EARLY!”)

But he was privately happiest to watch Iruka’s scowl turn into a bemused and curious smiling blush, as he opened the box and unpacked.. Whatever it was that the lady had sold him. (Bull’s earlier commentary of “She got one over on you, boss. You’re acting like a puppy over this.” was probably completely true.)

Some of the pickles were normal: bright purplered beets, some berries in blue liquid that actually looked somewhat good, cucumbers in herbaceous green liquid,bright red kimchi in the style of a neighboring nation, yellow onions, pale daikon radish, cabbages and carrots— but some of the pickles were less so. The eyes in dark broth made Iruka look slightly ill, and he put them behind the other jars; he looked pleased enough at the pleasant spirals of filleted fish; Naruto positively _shrieked_ at the chicken feet. “You can’t eat those, Iruka, they’re _feet!!”_

Iruka laughed, suddenly mischievous, and cracked open the jar. “Oh? No? You don’t like chicken feet, Naruto? They’re very good for you.” He fished out one and wriggled it at the boy, the talons bouncing bonelessly, causing Naruto to recoil, nearly hissing like a cat. 

“They’re gross, not food! Ah, no, that’s disgusting!” This last because Iruka popped the whole thing into his mouth, apparently finding it quite good. 

And Kakashi should have been concerned at how good he found the image of Iruka popping a whole _anything_ into his mouth, when that anything was chicken feet specifically. ( _Calm down, mind.)_

And if Kakashi decided to let this moment be as it was, then nobody had to know or scold him about it— Yamato was not here; nobody even knew that this was where Iruka was currently staying. 

Anyway, it just felt _wrong_ to ask about the seal now, Kakashi thought guiltily, not willing to spoil thingst. Wrong and coercive, like this gift would’ve been a bribe. Like staying here at all was a bribe.

Yes, that was totally the reason. The only one. Not anything else regarding the ending of other situations, or that to make the ask would divulge a dangerous vulnerability or a situation not entirely in the grasp of Kakashi’s carefully maintained control. 

Not even a little bit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter titles and main title don't really mean anything, i just get a song stuck in my head. and sometimes it kinda fits, but sometimes it's just ??? lest i allow that to function as red herring for too long.
> 
> Specific thanks to some friends for helping me figure out what picked foodstuff to use in order to freak Naruto out, which was harder to do than not!  
>  And it led into an absolutely fabulous conversation about weird foods across the world. C:
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.
> 
> \- * (42)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this whole fic is self-indulgent meandering and worldbuilding, but I will say that this chapter is mostly that. It's a series of vignette-type small scenes. There was going to be one more at the end, from Kakashi's perspective, but that'll be next chapter, I think.  
> There'll probably be a moment or two of plot in the next couple of chapters (Gasp!); we'll see. (I am trying to structure this story very deliberately breaking some normal storytelling rules, and most of them have to do with how much plot occurs and how and where it happens. So there's Stuff going on in Konoha, but because our dudes are not in Konoha, how much of that other story (that's happening in the village) actually gets told in this story is a little up in the air.)

NTS/formulate into AN: this chapter = series of vignettes; occurs over period of time. P slow and languid. Next chapter = kakashi pov (may add scene at end here???????? Too abrupt pace change????

—————————

Every night, Iruka went to sleep wrapped in magic. Kakashi seemed somewhat bemused— and occasionally concerned— about where Iruka had set up his little half-room, but never actually _said_ anything about it. (Kakashi did not seem to _say_ a lot of things, _especially_ if they mattered— Iruka, who was naturally given to being demonstrative in voice _and_ body, was learning this somewhat slowly. The pale man hid a lot more than his face, automatically, compulsively, even in his own home, as if there was no place safe enough to let down his guard. It was kind of sad. Were all ex-ANBU like this? Was this the cost of their service? )

But nobody had stopped Iruka from sleeping there, and the magic was oddly comforting; deeper than the traces of chakra it preserved, more resonant, welcoming to him in a way warm and familiar. He would slip into sleep by mentally tracing the nests of captured chakra, wound through the magic structures and perpetually cycling through the mural, a machine that kept itself running through its own self-directed kinetics. Iruka was trying to figure out what the machine was _for,_ what it was _doing,_ but the magic itself seemed much more keen to show him what it had been made of— who, and how, the traces of its history, and where it had recently acquired troublesome snarls within its workings. Laying in the dark, Uhei beside him and Pakkun snoring on the hearth, Iruka would try to pick these snarls apart— gently, though, as he might slowly detangle a knotted mass of hair. Monotonous, meditative, unbelievably slow, better than counting sheep; the work was ponderous, but the castle was very old, and thus very patient. It _was_ a minor chakra well unto itself, having seen enough life and death to develop its own kind of momentum; it had held many generations of Its Family and would hold many more. It could afford the time.

The mural itself was a source of fascination for Iruka, awake or asleep. Because it wasn’t static— each scene was still, the figures didn’t move, but overnight the entire thing would change, as if thoroughly repainted when Iruka was sleeping. The first time he’d noticed this, he’d been very alarmed, touching the new paint— but the wall wasphysically unchanged, bone dry, and Iruka had puzzled over the new scene (a battle, with the blonde presumable-hero appearing several times in the composition, including in funeral procession in the final register, having presumably been slain). He’d asked Kakashi about it, but the tall man had decided to be particularly frustrating that day: having scrambled to his feet to inspect the wall himself, clearly surprised, he nevertheless pretended to be selectively deaf to Iruka’s questions on the subject— as usual, as he was whenever Iruka tried to get direct a direct answer about whether or not Kakashi wanted him to stay. Not really surprising.

Pakkun was more talkative, but it did not clarify the situation, because the demon was unable to articulate any relevant information in a way an unbound human could understand. The ability of demons to communicate with humans depended a great deal, Iruka knew, on the wordless connection that was forged through their binding with a human— lacking that, Pakkun and Iruka could only communicate with a common spoken language, and in matters of magic there was very little overlap— and even if there had been words, magic just didn’t _look_ or _feel_ the same, to a creature literally composed of the stuff, as it did to a human.

The mural did cycle through some imagery more frequently than others, and it seemed to prefer the scene it had shown during Iruka’s first few days there: a wide forest, deer, the frog shape that was the castle, a mass of spiraling rooms drawn with no attention to euclidean geometry emerging from the frog-castle’s mouth, and figures that Iruka now assumed were to represent those accepted by the wards. This specific image had changed once: an image recognizable as Iruka was now in the top register, stylized as much as the rest of the composition, alongside a little Kakashi and Naruto and all of the dogs except Pakkun. The whole thing was trapped magic, and in each of these figures was wrapped a small trace of their chakra; Iruka assumed it had something to do with the wards. But there was a also primary chakra behind all of them, as if a signature of the maker, and this signature trace felt like Kakashi.

(“Does Kakashi Paint?” Iruka had asked the pug, who was awake and apparently feeling quite good, despite his persistant wanness.

Pakkun had laughed “No! He can barely manage the sigils for long spells.”

“Then who did the painting on the wall? The one of me.”

“Oh. Kakashi.” As if this were matter of fact— but judging by Kakashi’s expression of shock and alarm when Iruka’d pointed out the change, Kakashi’d not done so intentionally, for all his chakra was in the image.

“Did Kakashi paint it?”

Blank stare. “He _made_ it.”

“Er. _How_ did Kakashi do it? I think I’d’ve noticed if he painted it.”

Pakkun narrowed his eyes, as if this answer was self evident, and tilted his head, one ear flopping comically over the wrong way, belying the severity of the small demon’s expression. “ _He made it_.”

“But _how?”_

 _“_ He _made_ it.” Now speaking quite slowly, as if Iruka was slow. “The way you _make_ things.”

Iruka decided a different tactic. “What.. Okay, fine.Does he _know_ he made it?”

This made the pug sigh heavily, a note of deep frustration in his voice, “Don’t ask me what goes on in that pup’s head, he’s as bad as you are.”

And Iruka had left it there, slightly affronted at the comparison: he was plenty communicative, thank you very much.)

He would still occasionally ask Pakkun questions about the mural, but the answers were usually unclear; they were talking around one another, missing words that would clarify important distinctions.

(Only if Iruka could solve most of the puzzle himself could he get useful confirmation from the demon: “So is this image the wards?” He’d asked another time, when he’d woken to the image of the castle and its present inhabitants on the wall oncemore.

“No.” Pakkun had answered, after a long visible hesitation that told Iruka that the answer was a little more complicated than a straitforward ‘no’.

“Is it related to the wards?”

“Yes.” Pakkun answered, for once sounding pleased at his ability to answer— the pug liked Iruka, and particularly liked his tenacity of approach, with regards to the puzzles that were Iruka’s seals and the castle and magic in general.

Iruka nodded, able to confirm a suspicion. “Are the reason Kakashi, Naruto, and I are painted here because we are the people accepted by the wards?”

Pakkun’s creased face creased further in thought. “Among other things, yes.”

“Why aren’t you on here?”

And that was the limit of useful communication— Pakkun had opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to answer; Iruka was not sure if this was a blockage on communication, such as that caused by his seal, or if it was simply that Pakkun could not summon the words to explain to a human the intricacies of.. Whatever this was. In the end, he’d sighed and flopped over in frustration, rolling his shoulders in that specific shrug that meant this line of questioning was too frustrating to continue.)

==

Kakashi’s schedule did not have much of pattern. Occasionally, he lingered in the castle for a few days at a time, messing with spell components and trying— and usually failing— to build rudimentary magical machines. Pakkun was right— his handwriting with the sigils was terrible, which was probably part of his lack of success. Iruka did not often offer help, because he couldn’t tell what Kakashi was trying to do with the small machines; when he did inquire, Kakashi did as Kakashi always did, which was to deflect, usually flirtatiously. It was impossible to get any kind of strait answer from the man— and Iruka would’ve taken it personally, but he was equally evasive towards Naruto, and it was never a cold kind of evasiveness. (Naruto, in fact, was _delighted_ by Kakashi’s outlandish tales about each day’s exploits, peppering Kakashi with excited questions the moment the white-haired man got home, in between a tale about how the Daimyo’s cat came to be stuck in a tree and pursued by six terrifying courtiers, or whatever else the latest story was.)

Most of this was bullshit— Iruka doubted very much whether the Daimyo had a cherished kitten, and much less that it had gotten itself stuck in trees such that only a ninja of Kakashi’s reputation could _possibly_ save it— but as Iruka’s time at the castle grew into weeks, he had reason to suspect there were little hints of truth to it: Kakashi turned the door lantern to purple when he left, most days, and came back smelling like the heavy incense and spices that Iruka was coming to associate with the market outside the door.

And, of course, there were the footmen in the official robes of those who served The Daimyo, who knocked on the purple-lit door, asking for “Master Kakashi, if you please; the Daimyo requests his service directly.” They usually came around on days when Kakashi made himself mysteriously scarce in his own rooms or in Konoha, and so Iruka could only graciously take a message, or accept the wax-sealed envelopes they brought, to deliver in the evenings once Kakashi was summoned back downstairs by the smell of dinner.

Kakashi always scowled at these letters and messages, but was— as usual— evasive when Iruka asked _what_ the Daimyo wanted him for. “Maa, Iruka, I’m irresistible to all men! Only you can resist my charms. Unless you’d like to prove me wrong?” Complete with a leer and a minor invasion of Iruka’s space, which made him flush and flee back a few steps.(The flirting was normal, but the more blatant and outlandish flirts were something Kakashi deployed when he wanted to misdirect Iruka away from some topic he was particularly keen to avoid; Iruka had begun to notice this pattern, but was helpless to actually get around it, because part of him desperately _did_ want the more subtle flirting to be real, for all the reams of Complicated that would inevitably come along.)

But whatever Kakashi was doing for the Daimyo— or trying to _avoid_ doing, more realistically—it seemed serious, and was probably related to the cream-colored messenger hawk that Iruka would sometimes find waiting on the teeth-railing of the castle’s balcony-mouth in the mornings, bearing messages sealed by the Hokage himself. Iruka did not open these, though it gave him a pang to see that seal; he missed his family, he missed his home, he missed the freedom to go where he wanted.

—

Iruka’s world was shrinking in a way he did not like— in ways he was entirely unprepared to deal with, given his numerous duties and social connections across Konohagakure. He felt unmoored, and that much more because his duties included the mission desk and close contact with the Hokage, all of which left him _somewhat_ informed about the goings-on of the village and some of their international contacts. He’d gone from that to _nothing_ — by his own doing— and not even the the castle was enough of a distraction, especially on the days when Naruto was under external supervision (about half of the week, ostensibly in the name of not calling attention to Iruka’s presence by means of a change in the childcare routine.)

Days where Naruto was present were better, of course.

Naruto had unbelievably huge reserves of Chakra, and only intuitive control over the massive reserves— much of which he also seemed incapable of accessing, unless he was excited or upset. The latter was thankfully rare, but the former? Small explosions of either magic or chakra or both were becoming quite common in the castle, usually strange and spectacular and bright orange. The chances of these chaotic events were increased whenever Iruka tried to teach Naruto anything to do with Chakra in the actual living space, and so such lessons took place _outdoors_. Initially, Iruka had allowed these to occur in Konoha, as much propelled by his own homesickness for the familiar sights and smells of the village as anything else. The Hatake compound was big and abandoned, plenty of places for a child like Naruto to exercise some of that chakra without causing undue damage or come to much notice, and the castle opened onto its lawns directly.

Or so Iruka thought. Iruka kept them all carefully to the center of the compound, away from eyes that might be situated around the perimeter, but he was _not_ ANBU, and his skills lay less in the fast chakra techniques by which the shinobi found their success. He wasn’t capable of surveilling his ANBU surveillance.

It was therefore either a fluke or an intentional warning, that he noticed the figure in the tree above the garden wall: dark, standing tall and still, nearly invisible but for the bright red and white mask with the shape of a cat’s features. ANBU, watching him. It brought a thrill to his chest, a heady mix of excitement, fear, and a little disappointment— a brief flash of hope that they were the dog-masked ANBU—but they were a stranger, watching him and Naruto, and only Naruto technically had any reason to be here.

Iruka froze, heart in his throat, which drew Naruto’s attention. The boy— who’d been chasing Bisuke with the specific instructions to try to keep most of his chakra in his feet, pre-emptive to learning how to walk vertically up surfaces— stopped and looked the same direction as Iruka’s stare. “Oh don’t worry!” Naruto sang happily, “Cat’s nice.”

Iruka flinched at this, and gently made excuses to herd Naruto back inside; nice or not, he was going to have to talk to Naruto about discretion, and that was not going to be an easy task.

He felt made sick with worry; had that been a fatal mistake to his clumsy attempts at secrecy?

From that point forward, Naruto’s chakra control lessons took place in the forest, near the castle, and always in a perimeter of carefully orchestrated (and obnoxiously monotonous to write) barrier and misdirection seals.

—

Nothing much changed for their having been seen; nobody came to collect Iruka from his hiding place— the only break in the routine was the arrival of a messenger hawk some days thereafter, the cream-colored one that usually held messages for Kakashi. The scroll on its back was smaller than usual, and the hawk did not leave as soon as it was taken; instead, he looked at Iruka expectantly, as if waiting for a written reply. Only then did Iruka notice that it was _his_ name on the scroll, not Kakashi’s.

In Hiruzen’s handwriting.

Iruka’s hands were shaking as he unrolled the message, fearing some kind of recrimination or ultimatum— what he found was short, and slightly strange. Three words: “Are you well?” But these were written in a specific kind of Kanji, slightly archaic and with great flourish— this was the modified writing meant for seals, but there was no magic or seal or chakra in the message, beyond that ordinarily transferred by the act of writing. Still, there had to be a _reason_ for the flourish.

“Are” and “You” were too broad to be very relevant, but “well” was a symbol occasionally used for house protection spells and seals, the kind ordinarily set up when someone was going to leave for a long mission and wished to leave behind extra protection for their families. This was not just ‘are you well,’ but ‘are you safe.’ But the message was brief, and subtle; the third was worried about either the hawk or the message being intercepted.

That wasn’t a good sign— something was going on in Konoha, and Iruka was at a total loss to know out what; he certainly could not ask in a message like this.

But this also meant that Hiruzen had not specifically renounced him, that there would be a way for him to come home after all of this. Something in him relaxed, something he hadn’t even known had been a sense of tension and fear.

Once the baby was actually born, constructing a lie about their parentage would be that much easier. Things wouldn’t go back to normal, of course, but Iruka could have his people back— he only needed to weather this, and with implicit strand of hope, he felt _capable_ of doing so.

Things would be okay.

Grabbing his own scrap of paper, he wrote back— in the same seal-modified script— “Yes. I ask forgiveness. I hope you are well. All my love.” And off the bird went again, back towards the village.

The reply came back early the next day, equally brief, and as discomforting for its implications as the previous had been comforting. “Good; granted; stay where you are. May you continue to be well.” There was special emphasis on ‘stay where you are’— this was a command given as much by the Hokage as an adopted father. There was nothing at all about Hiruzen’s own state, or that of Konoha.

But Naruto was home during the arrival of the second message, and so Iruka had neither the time nor the energy to dwell very long on such worries, because the boy had it in his head that he wanted to make the same kinds of machines that Kakashi was playing with. The demon fox’s maverick energy, though, had instead accidentally animated all of the forks yet un-reclaimed by the mysterious pantry spell, and they were just then staging a small coup against the humans, much to Naruto’s boundless delight. 

Children’s chakra was bad enough, but childrens’ magic— there was a _reason_ such lessons took place _outside._

The messenger hawk had evidently been told not to expect a reply, and so it flew off immediately, keen to avoid that day’s Jinchuriki-induced chaos.

—

But by early August (thirteen weeks, his mind supplied), even the chaos had become its own kind of routine, and Iruka dreaded the days where nobody was home— he’d mostly finished the books that Kakashi had taken for him, and there was nothing else to do but think and _worry_. There was only so long that he could avoid thoughts of the Future, but he was keen to push that off as long as humanly possible, no matter how unwise he _knew_ that was.

He _could_ go home when the kid was born— well, probably— he knew that now. There would be logistics, but there were always logistics. He could go _home._ He could walk around Konoha again.

But doing so also meant leaving the castle, without the continued need to hide; Naruto would by then be old enough to join the academy, he would have no more reason to linger here, no more warm embrace of the castle’s magic, no more snarking with Pakkun or this nameless whatever it was he was dancing around with Kakashi— Kakashi, whose flirty affectations he would dismiss as meaningless playfulness, if not for the fact that Kakashi kept _bringing_ him things,and particularly things that he asked after but found were hard to acquire (like the books), or that were obviously the product of Kakashi’s careful observations of Iruka’s daily life (like the pickles). This left Iruka completely off-balance: was Kakashi simply a surprisingly nice person whose ANBU-level observations of the world were now a perpetual relic of prior service, or was he trying to communicate something and lacked the social tools to do so? Did that even matter, given the— well, everything?

This was all a time of rapid transition, and _nothing_ would be spared. Iruka knew that, academically, but that didn’t mean he wanted to _feel_ the truth of it. He wanted basically _anything but that_.

And he also hated hiding, hated feeling off-kilter, hated feeling like his body was out of his own direct control, hated feeling weak, hated the implication that he needed protection. He wasn’t a shinobi that did many missions, but he was far from useless. Pride was warring with strategy, yielding frustration.

More, Uhei had _finally_ had her pups a couple of days prior— in his little alcove room, no less— and while they were _very adorable_ , they were also very much reminders of this transition phase of his own life, and Uhei herself was _not remotely_ interested in having humans around; demons or not, her litter was helpless at this early stage. She even snarled at Pakkun anytime he came close, despite ordinarily deferring to his authority as pack leader— an insult Pakkun took with good grace, as if this were normal and expected behavior.

(Kakashi also bore her snarling well— he was downright _excited_ to have puppies around again, almost as bright as Naruto in their mutual enthusiasm. Naruto was trying very hard to be patient and give Uhei the space she needed— it was sweet, because every time they whimpered he would all but vibrate with the urge to go say hi to them.

And, for once, Kakashi had been willing to provide direct information: “Yeah, that’s normal.” He’d answered cheerfully, when Iruka told him in a low tone about how snappish Uhei had been towards Pakkun, “When they start walking on their own she’ll present the pups to us and let us meet them. Be glad she’s letting you sleep in your own bed, though, since she’s decided that alcove is her den.” He’d leaned closer, radiating a comforting warmth, “Though you can always sleep in _my_ bed, Sensei, if she does chase you off.” This was said with a playfulness born of infectious enthusiasm, rather than an attempt to misdirect him off some stressful line of questioning, but Iruka flushed and stuttered regardless, changing the subject by habit.)

Cute or not, Iruka’s cabin fever had reached such a fever pitch that _something, somewhere_ had to give: it was beyond time to investigate _the dreaded upstairs._

He wouldn’t dare go in Kakashi’s room— ex-ANBU and Iruka didn’t have a death-wish— but Naruto’s room was probably a wreck, and Iruka was willing to indulge the shallow excuse of Spring Cleaning (or, rather, Late Summer Cleaning) for the sake of something to do. “I’m going to go clean Naruto’s room,” Iruka announced to the room, startling Pakkun awake and causing Uhei to poke her head around the alcove’s partial wall.

“Iruka, wait!” Pakkun said, at the same time as Uhei barked “You need to be careful on the stairs!”; their voices together unintelligible barks and a scrabble of claws against hardwood. Iruka was already climbing; at the top he leaned forward, letting his senses reach out for traps or extra wards. All he felt was a lot of strange magic, which was normal here.

“I don’t know what you’re—“ he started to say, turning to face the anxious dogs barking up the stairs at him, while still in upper threshold.

The rest of the sentence was lost in a very strange _not-sound_ , the impression of a building creakily rearranging itself, as the world twisted around him. A second later and the world was still again; he was at the end of the hallway, facing a flat wall that was most certainly _not_ a staircase with an anxious set of demon dogs at the bottom. “What-?” Iruka asked, twisting back towards the entire dusty hall; he had barely a chance to catch a glimpse of it before everything shifted once again, leaving him vaguely nauseous at the end of a second dusty hallway, one much more crowded, with many doorways and huge hulking shapes blocking most of them.

Iruka stood still for several long moments, and then stepped forward cautiously— the world did not shift again; whatever had triggered the shift was selective, apparently, but he didn’t know what it was.

All he did know was that this was definitely still _castle,_ and that both hallways felt disjunctive. There was the everpresent hum of the wards, the familiar energy of the castle, but otherwise the two halls did not seem to be related. He was no expert in architecture, but he knew enough village and regional history to recognize that the two hallways were constructed in very different styles, neither of which resembled the original room from which he’d emerged.

The previous hall had been spare and gloomy, made of wood, solidly constructed, with that kind of simple delicate architecture that blended gently into the forests in which Konohagakure was situated. It was centuries old, very traditional, the sort of thing you only saw in the oldest family compounds in the village. It felt like something _close_ to Kakashi’s energy, underneath the overarching _castleness_ of the space. It felt like the Hatake compound, actually, whenever he’d taken Naruto there.

By contrast, the castle’s main rooms more or less matched the kind of urban estate onto which the castle’s purple-lit door opened— if the spare servant quarters side of such a building, implying that there was a more ornate section elsewhere that Iruka had assumed was merely in permanent disuse (and the door to which Iruka had been hoping to find upstairs).

 _This_ _hallway,_ however, was centuries older than either of those, constructed in a style that one could typically only see in the oldest scroll paintings, dated well before Konohagakure had been founded. It was _ornate,_ with everything from the doorways to supports for the cantilevered ceiling covered in decoration so intense and deeply incised that many layers of dust could not obscure it completely.More than that, it was built of stone, frigid cold and sepulchral.The doorways lacked doors, but were nevertheless blocked: large _constructions_ , mostly shaped like beasts, stood in the doorways, made of mismatched parts of stone and wood and rope, articulable but preternaturally still. 

Iruka found it it physically uncomfortable to be present in the hall; the wards and _castleness_ were very loud here, almost overwhelming in their intensity. There was almost no trace of Kakashi here, as there had been in the previous hall; only something that felt a little closer to Naruto, very much like the strains of old magic inside the mural, but so much _louder._

Which made sense, since this place was two things simultaneously, neither of which were supposed to _actually exist_ outside of ancient history and fairy tales: it was a charnel house, a long burial complex in which ancient clans would’ve buried their honored dead, and it was also the nexus of a chakra well, self-sustaining, a gravitational swirl of metaphysical energy where the difference between magic and chakra ceased to be a useful distinction.

All of which meant that the guardians of those burial chambers were _probably_ Automatcha, a kind of golem that could function as the castle’s mobile arms and hands, most often for matters of local defense. They were still asleep because he was in the wards— Of The Castle, for their purposes— and Iruka was quite keen to _never see them actually move._ He’d read about them, but had dismissed them as myth: perhaps these were just statues to represent such myths, but Iruka didn’t actually _want_ to find out of they were real.

That this was a chakra well also meant that Iruka needed to leave- ambient energy with enough pull to possibly animate semi-sapient statues were levels far, far higher than he wanted to expose a fetus to. Not that it was _dangerous_ per se— probably; the archaic language of much of his reading material spoke about pregnancy only in euphemism, if at all— he’d gotten the very distinct expression that magic exposure was unpredictable but very definitely had _effects._ This was also _not_ an experiment he wanted to conduct with his own child. The thought shook him from a kind of macabre curiosity that ordinarily would’ve rooted him there, got him trotting through the long hall, trying to trigger whatever it was that had brought him here.

No luck, until he reached the far end; panting, he stood towards the wall, beside a very small, half-constructed automatcha, unattached to any doorway (was the person for which it was being constructed not yet dead? Or were their bones elsewhere, thus not requiring a ceremonial burial guardian?)

“Fuck, how did—“ Iruka cursed, straightening and turning to run the other direction— and it was the turning that did it. Once again the world shifted, depositing him in yet another hallway, this one warmer, shorter, and made of wood, though still otherwise in the same ornamental construction of many centuries prior. There was _castleness_ here, too, of course, but not that harsh pull that was the chakra well, not a level that he’d consider dangerous to his unborn child.

If anything, this hallway felt welcoming, like it was meant for regular use, and Iruka fear faded to exploratory curiosity.

At least he wasn’t bored anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific thanks and notations--  
> I still have to adjust the first chapter to clarify who's wearing what mask-- will hopefully do that by next chapter-- but I do want to thank pumpkinrum for pointing that out! Very appreciated!!  
> Rikacain gets a cookie for guessing where the hatake compound is going C: unfortunately the cookie is also made out of pickled chicken feet. Delicious?  
> Huge huge huge huge huge huge huge huge thanks to MagnusTesla for reading over this chapter for me, because I hate editing my own work sometimes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kakashi's been having a pretty good time so far in this fic.  
> it'd be a pity if this writer were to _notice_ that.

The castle to which Kakashi and Naruto returned that evening was in a state of mild chaos: Uhei was barking, which was audible even before they opened the magically lit door. Naruto, drawn to chaos of any kind, immediately picked up on the excitement, dashing up into the castle’s common space with shouts of “What’s happening?” before Kakashi could grab the back of his bright orange jacket. (At least the dogs wouldn’t be barking during an active threat; they were clearly alarmed, but active danger would’ve drawn an active defence.)

Uhei was pacing back and forth between her den and the stairs. “Iruka went upstairs.” She whined, looking soulfully up the stairs whenever she passed, clearly waiting for him to reappear at the top of them. “And now we don’t know where he is.”

“He’s in the library.” Pakkun answered, with all the calmness Uhei, “and he’s not in danger.”

Uhei rounded on him, barking angrily. “That doesn’t help us if we don’t know how to get to him there! He might be lost! _You_ don’t even know how the hallway doors work! Certainly nobody told him!!”

This was clearly a repeat on an earlier argument, because Pakkun grit his teeth and responded with the kind of grating patience that made quite clear how little patience he actually had. “Iruka will be fine, he’s better at the castle than any of us are.”

Uhei would not be calmed. “He should be back by noooow” the barking was shifting to mournful howling, and apparently the strange transportation effect that lingered at the end of the castles’ halls did not transmit sound, else Iruka would’ve surely heard her, wherever he was.

Kakashi was inclined to agree with Uhei, though, as evidenced the sinking feeling in the pit of his belly. He did not understand the castle— he wasn’t even sure he _liked_ it most of the time; he certainly didn’t trust it. He’d’ve taken them all away from there, had it not been made quite clear in the inheritance documents that this was the safest place for Naruto to be, away from any grasping hands that might try to hurt him, or to separate him from the Kyuubi at the cost of his own life. But ‘safest place to keep Naruto’ was a far cry from being ‘safe to occupy’— those two things might even be mutually exclusive.

He uncovered the sharingan, bracing himself for the onslaught that was the castle— a brightness that made it generally hard to distinguish any specific chakra from the morass, and that was always followed by a headache. It was one reason he’d never been entirely comfortable there, despite the fact that the sharingan was less the cause of his success as a shinobi than rumors might otherwise imply. As usual, it required extra focus to make sense of the mass of chakra he saw: the castle was less a single persistent brightness as it was a kaleidoscopic array of hundreds of chakra signatures, woven together, constantly cycling, as blood might in a human body. The castle also tended to _preserve_ chakra— the traces of chakra generated by all living things were stronger here, and lingered wherever the sources did. The entire room was thus covered in Iruka’s teal presence, mixed in with Naruto’s golden-orange and his own lavender-gray— a sight that would’ve warmed him if not for his general distrust of all things castle. He approached the stairs, frowning: there was Iruka’s teal, all the way to the top, where it stopped abruptly— but there was also another, faint and pale, ghostly, right alongside it. Was that a castle artifact? Someone’s presence from long ago, preserved by the castle’s machine seals?

Naruto surprised him by breaking into the argument blooming between the demon dogs. “The Library?” he repeated, with an expression that implied total incomprehension at the draw of such a room, when there were _so many other cooler rooms_ everywhere else. “I know where that is! It’s okay Uhei, we can go get him.” He offered the grayhound reassuring pats, and she leaned into them.

“You do?” Kakashi asked pointedly, closing the Sharingan and pinning his son with a sharp look from the normal eye.

Naruto seemed to realize that he’d let something slip that he wasn’t supposed to; before Iruka came, there had been several days a week when Kakashi had needed to leave him without supervision at the castle, which had quickly become very _boring_. Kakashi had always left him with with one explicit instruction: _stay here_ , accompanied by a point to the center of the room. Kakashi had thus made peace with the fact that these unsupervised times would inevitably result in much more messy household trainwreck than any single person should rightly be able to create, much less one so relatively small as Naruto, but apparently generating the detritus of Naruto’s ambient chaos wasn’t the only thingthe boy had been up to during those times. Naruto squirmed a little under Kakashi’s stare. “Yea, it’s okay though!” he answered quickly, “The castle’s not that bad. And I know how to get to the library! Can we go? Get Iruka?”

Pakkun’s calmness and Kakashi’s own observations regarding Iruka’s skill with the castle told him that he had nothing to worry about, but that never stopped the emotional pull, and now was no exception. He decided to be grateful that Naruto’s surreptitious explorations had yielded benefit instead of injury, and nodded, sighing. “Lead the way.”

Still sheepish, Naruto put his small hand in Kakashi’s larger one and tugged him up the stairs, making sure not to twist in the threshold until Kakashi was standing beside him. “It’s le—“ he said, and then the swirl of the transportation. “T and then ri-“ the room they’d landed in didn’t have time to resolve itself before Naruto was twisting around again “—d then l—“. Naruto’s explanations were lost to the swirl of chaotic energy, and by the time they landed in the correct hallway, the tall man was feeling dizzy and motion-sick. “It’s down this hallway!” Naruto announced brightly, tugging Kakashi’s hand as soon as they’d landed, and _finally_ a hallway had time to resolve itself into an actual location before they were off again.

“One second” Kakashi said, very carefully stepping away from the end frame of the hall, willing his stomach to settle and his brain to stop spinning. He liked his mother’s longterm, well-defined, _predictable_ ritual spells; otherwise, magic was _very much not_ his favorite thing in the world. He took a deep breath, shook himself, and opened up the sharingan again. Naruto was right; Iruka had definitely come this way. Here was the teal— and still that little strand of ghostly pale probably-white… He let Naruto tug him forward, towards the door into which the chakra signature(s) disappeared.

Kakashi found two surprises there.

The first was the Hatake library-- sort of. The hallway outside had been wood, with painted walls and ornamentally carved accents in ancient styles, very similar to what little of the castle he’d explored in the early days after his initial binding (and shortly before he’d given up trying to understand how the transportation spell worked). Inside the actual library, however, it looked like some supernatural architect had inexpertly tried to blend that ancient style with the construction of the Hatake compound, but only by stapling bits of completed rooms together, without any particular care for how physics or euclidean geometry were supposed to work. It was disorienting, because the space didn’t seem to _behave_ the way it was supposed to; twice so, because it was also still the familiar Hatake compound library— sort of.

That library had been mostly scrolls, stored in square box shelves along four walls. Those same shelves were now interspersed around a room with many more walls, primarily towards the front, around some familiar desks and chairs from the same room. All of this mixed in with ornate shelving, containing both scrolls and actual manuscripts— rare, and likely imported— more in keeping with the hallway outside than the library of his memories. This room continued on into the distance, much farther than the one he’d known, with the mixed shelves disappearing into the distance. Evidently, the castle had already contained a library, and had decided that integrating the Hatake library into the one already present made more sense than keeping them apart.

The ambient magic was also stronger here— whether thanks to the blending or the books or something else, Kakashi did not know— and it was uncomfortable to keep the sharingan open, the kaleidoscopic energy chaos vying, almost angrily, for his chakra-seeing eye’s attention.

But Kakashi didn’t close it, because the other surprise was something only it could see, focused on the sleeping figure of Iruka in one of the more comfortable reading chairs, book open on his chest (something to do with seals, but in an archaic script that Kakashi didn’t bother struggling to decipher.) Iruka, a hub of bright teal, but still alongside that ghost of a chakra trace was most certainly _not_ a castle artifact or the coincidentally preserved trace of some past castle inhabitant who’d also really enjoyed reading. That realization was making it very hard for Kakashi to string two words together.

Naruto was waiting for Kakashi to do something— when Kakashi stood frozen, saying nothing, he waited a few seconds more, and then ambled up to Iruka himself, totally oblivious to any social niceties regarding waking someone up from a nap. “IRUKA WE FOUND YOU.” He immediately announced, trying to clamber up into the big chair to demand a hug and direct attention. Personal space and family were mutually exclusive concepts to Naruto, and one was not often granted the luxury of waking up slowly around the boy.

But Iruka was used to that. “Oof, Naruto you’re heavy; this chair isn’t _that_ big.” Iruka mumbled, closing the book quickly and putting it to the side, giving the boy a one-armed hug. They observed all of their normal greeting rituals rituals, as if being present deep within the magically collapsed space of the castle’s complex of rooms was totally a normal, every day thing to be experiencing. “I’m glad you’re back. Did you have a good day?” That to Naruto, and then a brief pause. “Kakashi?” Iruka had just noticed that the taller man was frozen, rooted to the spot, both eyes open and _staring_ at him, including the bright red sharingan that was normally carefully covered. Iruka’d never seen that eye before; its pupils spun slowly, languidly, recording him, its gaze an almost physical sensation. It was not a good feeling.

Iruka’s voice started Kakashi out of his frozen thoughts, and he snapped the sharingan closed, covering the eye with his hand, as if it pained him. “Yeah, sorry.” The man said quickly, shaking his head, still caught in the gravity of his thoughts.

“Kakashi gets headaches when he uses his creepy eye in this castle.” Naruto said, matter-of-factly, always eager to display knowledge and soothe perceived confusions. “Uhei’s really scared, we should go back and make dinner.”

“Sharingan.” Kakashi replied, automatically, still sounding very distracted.

Naruto nodded in confirmation, abandoning his half-perch on the chair and one of Iruka’s legs, and pulling on the smaller man’s hand to get him to stand. “creepy eye,” he repeated, and then said. “Come oooon, I’m huuuungry.”

“I don’t know how to get back-“ Iruka started to say, allowing himself to be tugged as he gathered the small pile of books at his side.

“I do!” Naruto announced.

“He’s apparently quite the expert.” Kakashi said, drawling slightly; his voice was colder than he’d intended it to be, but the pang of guilt Iruka’s concerned expression generated was buried under the weight of the Everything Else swirling around his brain.

He continued to be more distant and standoffish than usual throughout the evening— and not because he felt betrayed or angry, necessarily, but just because he felt _a lot_ , so much that he couldn’t actually make sense of any single emotions within the roiling mass. Distant and standoffish tended to come across as cold— it was one of his oldest coping mechanisms, and thus the one he defaulted to in times of particular stress— and the guilt he felt whenever his affect or acerbic comments generated concern or distress (or even hurt) did not help the lessen the overwhelming sensations.

Contrary to popular assumption, Kakashi actually _did_ feel, _a lot_ , all the time. ‘Roiling shambling mass of disorganized emotions’ was his normal, and _because_ it was his normal, it was not something he often projected or felt the need to make obvious. He could compartmentalize when he needed to— like during missions— and he could usually process the emotions fairly effectively, cataloguing even while he kept them carefully to himself.It was rare for his system to get overwhelmed, anymore.

Kakashi needed to get out of the castle, this strange oppressive place whose rules he did not understand and which stifled some of his most important abilities. Away from these people that he loved, because some things needed to be processed alone (or, at least, not around one’s most precious people, to use a Gai-ism.)

Most importantly, Kakashi needed to get _out of his mind._ As soon as humanly possible. Immediately.

Drinking. Yes. Drinking sounded like a great idea. Drinking, a bar, Tenzo, maybe Gai.

Months prior to this moment, Kakashi would’ve just left without a word— but now he was a parent, and he had responsibilities, and those were More Important Than His Feelings. He found himself profoundly grateful for the presence of Iruka, for all that Iruka was also the thing currently causing this level of internal chaos; Iruka managed Naruto unbelievably well, in ways Kakashi didn’t think he capable of right now, even when the smaller man was clearly concerned and feeling off-kilter about Kakashi’s sudden emotional distance. Things _had_ been going quite well between them, and this probably did seem very abrupt.

When Naruto was occupied chopping (or, more accurately, violently hacking apart) some vegetables for dinner, Kakashi motioned to Iruka and said in a low voice. “I need to go for a few days. Can you manage here?” The ‘please’ was clear in his tone, if unspoken.

Iruka frowned, looking up at his covered face with an expression that meant the smaller was trying to read Kakashi as he might a troublesome book, and Kakashi drew back instinctively, unwilling to be seen so vulnerable by someone who could probably read that vulnerability. “Is everything okay?” Iruka asked, very quietly, so Naruto wouldn’t hear.

“It’s fine.” Kakashi said, a little too quickly. At Iruka’s skeptical face, he sighed. “I’m sorry. It will be fine. I’ll be back in a few days.” He reached out and squeezed Iruka’s shoulder, an attempt at reassurance.

It only seemed to help slightly— Kakashi was _not_ physically demonstrative much of the time, and for that fact alone the action was jarring— but Iruka nodded regardless. “We’ll be okay.” The smaller man hesitated, as if he were going to ask prying questions; Kakashi was grateful when he decided not to. “Come back soon.” And he stepped carefully and deliberately out of Kakashi’s space, respectfully indicating an awareness of the tall man’s needs, and went to rescue the vegetables from Naruto’s less than tender ministrations.

He left out the castle door; perhaps the walk to Konoha would clear his head.

It didn’t.

When Kakashi arrived at Tenzo’s door, he could still not make sense of the roiling mass of _stuff_ he was feeling, beyond that it was _a lot_ to be feeling.

Tenzo didn’t look much better, more serious than usual when he answered Kakashi’s knock. It was early evening; Tenzo had clearly arrived back home within the last hour, his hair freshly washed, his face betraying that whatever missions he had been working were pulling on the man with their own emotional strain.

“Do you want to get drunk?” Kakashi didn’t bother with a smoother lead-in. “It’s been awhile since we’ve gone out for drinks. We should do that.” He was speaking a little too fast to be casual, but the words were true: Kakashi hadn’t gone out with his Jounin friends since before he’d been scratched from ANBU, and a great deal had changed since then, and he missed them.

“Now?” Tenzo asked, somewhat suspiciously. He liked going out for drinks, but he also wasn’t ordinarily inclined to indulge Kakashi’s occasional fondness for brooding over alcohol. Ordinarily. Right now, he saw the appeal of moping over drinks.

“ _Yes.”_ Kakashi answered emphatically.

Tenzo rubbed his eyes. He’d regret this later. “Yeah, alright. Give me a minute to get ready.”

Kakashi nodded. “I’ll go see if Gai’s available and meet you at the regulaspot.”

He was off before Tenzo could reply, as if outrunning something in his head. Which was probably exactly what the pale man was doing. Oh, he was going to regret this, Tenzo thought; this was promising to be the sort of night on the town that usually followed disastrous missions and went on for much longer than a single night.

Good thing he was off rotation for a few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading, and for kudos, and especially for comments. I read them.  
> the next chapter is 4/5 written, but Kakashi muse has drawn a line in the sand.   
> Probably reasonable, all things considered.
> 
> -* (42)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's long.  
> ISTG, I get something like the creative equivalent of sub drop. I finished this the same day as the previous chapter, but I couldn't get myself into headspace where I could reread this productively until today. not great for edits  
>  **There's some gore-- I've marked the start of it with *****
> 
> Also, thank you for the kudos and especially the comments. I don't often answer them because I am a scaredyauthor, but i do read them, and i'm really happy and pleased and good embarrassed that so many people are interacting with the story and guessing about the world and all this good stuff. I don't mean to be rude about not answering, but i do read and appreciate them. TY.

For all it was an old and unhealthy coping mechanism, the couple of days wherein Kakashi and Tenzo— and briefly, Gai, but he couldn’t spare as much time as either of the other two— spent either drunk or unconsciously recovering were largely uneventful. This would’ve been disappointing years ago, but was it now _exactly_ what Kakashi needed— and more for the contact with friends than the drinking, though Kakashi tended to be disinclined towards admitting that particular fact out loud. (It was hard for him to need people, hard to be vulnerable.) The company and the old routine fell into place instantly, a familiar set of rituals untouched by all the recent events of Kakashi’s life, all the things over which he had very little control or understanding.

They’d all tried ply secrets from one another, which was part of the ritual— but they were all aware enough that these attempts no longer worked as effectively as they had when they were younger. Konoha was clearly under quite a bit of stress, but it was that subtle sparkling tension that rarely came to enough of a head to be acknowledged, much less named; neither Gai nor Tenzou would reveal any information, but for the _strong_ emphasis that Kakashi should Not Get Involved and Stay As Far Away From Official Business As Possible, which was advice he’d heard before and was uniquely bad at. Focus on the Daimyo, they encouraged; what was happening there? He allowed them to learn about how he was being offered enticements by said Daimyo to become a court shinobi, somewhere between a courtier and a very clever pet, and for which he had only disgust.

But his friends were clever, and though he had relatively few of them, the ones he _did_ have knew him very well. Tenzo and Gai were very aware that it wasn’t the vapidity of a feudal lord’s court that had him so frustrated, and they correctly pinpointed that it was probably something to do with his home life. Kakashi was surprised to find that he actually _did_ want to tell them— but even if there were some discrete handsigns for ‘the really cute guy that started living in my house and watching my kid is pregnant and I’m pretty sure it’s mine’, that wasn’t his secret to tell, and it was clearly _the_ secret that had drawn Iruka to his door in the first place. So instead he was evasive, and felt terrible for the evasion.

Tenzo knew more than he let on, having seen, as Cat, Iruka’s careful teaching and supervision of Naruto in the Hatake compound. Tenzo had been _relieved_ to see it, and not only because it looked like Kakashi had somehow found someone with the desperately needed seals experience, but also because Kakashi had needed stable and affectionate moorings for years. Kakashi was much better about it now, both from the benefit of years and for the more recent benefit of Naruto, but he also had a strong tendency towards emotional self-sabotage. Tenzo had no idea what the nature of the relationship between Kakashi and Iruka was— though he knew what people whose interest was dangerous assumed that relationship to be— but whatever the truth actually was, Iruka was contributing to a stable home that Kakashi had desperately needed for as long as they’d known each other, one that Kakashi had prevented himself from accessing. Tenzo did not want that for any of his friends, much less for someone who was basically his brother; since the opportunity to develop such a thing had fallen on Kakashi’s shoulders, whether or not he’d intended it, Tenzo was keen to make sure Kakashi did not sabotage this possibility too. “You have a really good thing.” He’d said clumsily, during one of the periods of semi-sobriety between sessions at the bar. “Don’t— don’t—“ he couldn’t find the words to say it elegantly, “don’t fuck it up.” Kakashi had looked pained; in the past he’d’ve evaded again, or possibly even gotten hostile or snide, but now he just closed his eyes and rubbed his face harshly with his hands, giving Tenzo short stuttering nods, like he didn’t want to acknowledge the truth there but also couldn’t avoid it.

It was Tenzo who had called an end to their prolonged anti-festivities; the indulgence of bad habits was nice, once in a blue moon, but he _did_ have to return to duty eventually, and needed to be sober and recovered enough to do the job. Kakashi sighed, understanding, feeling the pang of not being ANBU anymore and no longer having that reason (or distraction) to dictate the structure of his life, but left all the same. He, too, had responsibilities now.

The walk to Konoha had been unproductive, but the walk to the Hatake compound did good for Kakashi, even if it was shorter. He could name the roiling emotions in his chest now, some of them, and they felt less overwhelming. There was hurt and betrayal, of course (why had Iruka not told him, had he thought Kakashi was so cruel as to eject him for this vulnerability?), but those feelings were small stings, and probably selfish besides; if Kakashi felt vulnerable, it must be that much worse for Iruka. There was also fear— lots of fear,some nameless and some specific, some pragmatic and some outlandish. He’d been scared with Naruto, too, but that was different: Naruto was independant, if still learning to be capable; he was far cleverer than anyone took him for, and he was a vessel for a tailed beast. None of that would be true for an infant, born yet or not. And Iruka— Kakashi knew _nothing_ of Iruka’s capabilities, save that he was a chuunin (who also knew far more than a chuunin should about seals and other things), that he was devilishly clever and observant, and that he was extremely skilled in magic and sealing— neither of which Kakashi understood at all, much less enough to measure their capacity in a battle scenario, and od which Kakashi was slightly afraid. Iruka was also very _proud_ (and could clearly keep a fucking secret), for all that the man sometimes moved around the castle like a mouse, keeping his presence smaller than seemed true to him, as if afraid that Kakashi would kick him out for getting too comfortable ( _that_ was what made Kakashi uncomfortable, Iruka’s _discomfort_ , not Iruka’s _presence_ , but Kakashi had no idea how to fix _that,_ much less make the distinction clear.)

Would Iruka accept Kakashi’s protection? Did he even need it? Did he want it? Would the offer of it read as something offered from a sense of obligation, rather than the fierce and freely given Thing that it already was for Kakashi? (That it had been, for awhile?)

This was why Kakashi didn’t have many _people._ People were _complicated_ and hard to anticipate, outside of battle.

There was also hope and excitement in the roiling mass of emotion, but Kakashi was nowhere close to ready to acknowledge those more directly.

But he didn’t have to— not right now.

Kakashi was going to Go Home. He was going to Go To Bed. He was going to wake up the next day, hung over, and ask Iruka very nicely if the man knew any miraculous hangover cures. He wasn’t going to— should he?— no, he wasn’t going to bring up anything he knew, or offer protection, but he also wasn’t going to be standoffish or accidentally mean, and he’d make Iruka feel welcome there, and maybe comfortable enough to tell Kakashi these secrets on his own time. Kakashi had no idea _how_ he was going to do any of this, but he was going to do it, damnit, and that was that.

Some things, however, were not in Kakashi’s control.

Thedoor lantern of the physical castle— the one that wandered around the forest restlessly— was always on, but the ones outside the doors of the castle’s secondary locations (internal locations?) were only lit if the internal door was currently set to open onto those locations. Everyone in the house tended to keep the interior door pointed towards the physical castle’s forest wanderings— it felt more secure, somehow, and Pakkun encouraged it. But as Kakashi, still more drunk than not, ambled up to the Hatake compound’s entrance, he could see the bright light shining cheerfully, as if someone was home, warmly occupying buildings that had been abandoned for most of his adult life. The wards also fizzled strangely as he passed into the grounds— still active, but frustrated and limited and angry, as if they’d been held back against their will, only recently released. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he steeled himself to use the sharigan in the visual chaos of the house, drawing a Kunai as he approached the door silently.

Nobody was on the grounds— including any of the dogs— and he opened the door cautiously.

The first sign that things were badly out of balance was the presence of _all_ of the dogs— the pack of ninken were arranged variously across the room, keeping sharp-eyed watch over the door or the stairs.The demon dogs were silent as he entered, but likely only because Naruto was still downstairs, and fast asleep at the table; they were unwilling to wake him. Neither Bisuke or Iruka were anywhere to be seen.

This was an eerie echo of the day before he’d left, but heavier, more serious— Uhei’s barking and Iruka’s absence then had scared him, the idea that Iruka might be lost in the unmapped and constantly shifting hallway transports of the castle, but Pakkun had been calm, almost exasperated at the fuss. Kakashi had thought that day had been bad, terrifying, dangerous— but the pall over the room now brought that into sharp and sudden perspective, confirmed by Pakkun, who _wasn’t_ calm: he was pacing on the hearth, thin and haunted, unhappily restless.

The castle’s interior room was much messier than usual, but not as if there had been a struggle. Rather, it looked on its way to acquiring the same kind of mess that had been normal prior to Iruka’s arrival: there were several trays of uncooked ingredients, presumably summoned by Naruto trying to get food that he wanted but didn’t know how to cook (which was still most food, but not for a lack of enthusiasm or teaching attempts— this was also in evidence, Naruto having attempted to cook real food and apparently given up halfway throug the process). There was a tray of half-eaten cookies, some clumsily constructed sandwiches, and a pot of totally untouched tea, cold to the touch.

Iruka usually intervened in _all_ of this chaos— especially the substitution of meals with cookies— immediately. He had a reputation for fanaticism with regards to the well-being of children under his care, and Kakashi had seen this first-hand with Naruto. (Kakashi did not trust easily, and certainly not with the things most precious to him; that he was willing to leave Naruto alone in Iruka’s care said _a lot,_ and mostly to do with Iruka’s capabilities rather than Kakashi’s feelings.) 

Naruto himself was apparently unhurt, but had also clearly been crying, judging from the red face and the messy state of his hair and clothing, like he’d been messing with it in anxiety and distress. His left sleeve was torn, but there was no blood.

<< _Where is the threat? >>_ Kakashi asked Pakkun silently, striding into the room properly.

<< _I no longer feel the presence of one, boss. >> _Pakkun answered, mental voice exhausted. In the colorful half-light of the interior door lantern, the weight and mass the pug had lost was starkly visible, his bones visible in sharp shadowy relief. << _But we are on watch nonetheless. >>_

Naruto had been sleeping fitfully; at the sound of Kakashi’s footsteps, he awoke, bristling, chakra crackling off of his hair; upon realizing the intruder was Kakashi, returned to his house, Naruto burst into tears and attached himself firmly to the tall shinobi’s waist. He was saying something, but Kakashi couldn’t make sense of the words.

Kakashi knelt, hugging the kid close, checking automatically for any injuries. Naruto seemed hale and whole; he was crying about the dogs not letting him protect.. _something_. Kakashi murmured noises and words he hoped were soothing (this was _not_ his forte, but parenthood involved learning skills you didn’t know, and quickly), alongside “slow down, Naruto, tell me what happened.” He kept hold of Naruto, willing his own body and his heartbeat to be still (the kid was terrifyingly observant of such small things), but opening the Sharingan.

Chaotic riot of colors: the castle. Bright, orange: naruto. The purple-tinged colors associated with each dog. Iruka’s teal, bright but hours old. The little white ghost that was attached to it (his heart leapt into his throat, and it was hard to keep his body calm). Someone dark-reddish brown and unfamiliar, vaguely threatening. The teal and white and dark-reddish brown trailed up the stairs, following the nearly-invisible teal-and-white trail from days previous, reminding him of the incident that had spurred him out in the first place. His fear that night was a caricature against this moment, when there was an unfamilair chakra signature in his house, and the possibly real danger.

Uhei emerged from her den and was leaning against the both of them, licking Naruto’s face; between her and Kakashi, Naruto managed to get to the point where he could speak, though there were still plenty of tears. “There was there was a person at the door. At the village door, which was w-wrong.” Naruto was saying— the only door that normally received visitors was the purple one, opening to the empire city, since all other doors led to buildings ostensibly in disuse. “The person at the door was knocking a lot, like it was an e-emergency. And I-iruka,” extra gulping here “told me to go into Uhei’s den and not come out until he or you said it was ok, and he didn’t answer the door until I did and the person at the door seemed really mad. And. And he said ‘Bring me the Jinchuriki’ really commanding, and I t-tried to go out and fight him except Uhei bit my sleeve and wouldn’t let me and I got mad at her and then I ripped my sleeve and when I got out of here Iruka and the man were gone and the door was open.”

“You’re a pup and I had to protect you.” Uhei said to Naruto gently, clearly having said this before, nudging him with her cold nose.

This was not a comfort to the boy, who just flailed his fists and shouted “But I’m a **NINJA** not a puppy and I should protect the people I care about.”

Kakashi stroked Naruto’s hair, soothing— he knew that feeling quite well— but let Uhei do the verbal soothing, instead turning to the other dogs. “What happened to Iruka?”

Pakkun answered, verbally. “The person at the door had an ANBU mask, but he put Iruka under a Genjutsu. I don’t-“ Pakkun screwed up his wrinkled face- “I don’t think it worked correctly. Iruka grabbed his wrist and said ‘come with me’ and ran up the stairs before he could react. I called the rest of the pack— they were also under a genjutsu, though— sleep— so they didn’t come until I felt the threat.. Stop.”

“Stop?” Kakashi repeated.

“Stop. Yes. Stop being. I think it died. I don’t know, I’ve never felt anything die while I’ve been been bound to the castle.” There was a bite of frustrated sarcasm here, but Kakashi let it pass, there more important things to deal with.

“And Iruka?” Kakashi’s voice was steely, clamped down. Mission mode.

“I still feel him, but far away. Faint.” Spike of fear, Kakashi’s, but felt by both of them thanks to their connection. “Faint like there’s a lot of energy masking him, not like. He’s injured.” << _Not like dying. >> _Pakkun switched to mental communication, mindful of Naruto. << _I think. It’s hard to tell. But I do still feel him and I think that’s a good sign_.>> “We sent Bisuke after him. He has the best nose, aside from me. Neither of them has come back.”

“Where.”

Pakkun once again looked frustrated. “I don’t know the word for it.” He answered, and sent Kakashi the impression of the idea instead: place for burial, the feeling of gravity, the castle’s nauseating kaleidoscope of mixed chakra and magic, large sculptures that guarded things: tomb guardians, a family’s long lineage of the dead. _Hall of the honored dead._

Kakashi _really_ didn’t know which thing he disliked more: that the castle had a “hall of the honored dead”, or that he was only finding out about it only now, under these circumstances.

He had to take care of Naruto, though, before he could go after Iruka. The boy’s sobs were starting to calm, but more because of obvious tiredness than a lack of emotion; he was swaying slightly in his seat. “Naruto,” Kakashi said, softly but firmly. “I’m going to take you to bed, okay, and then I’m going to go get Iruka. Everything will be okay.” And _it would be,_ because Kakashi would not be made a liar to his own son.

“NO.” Naruto shouted, screwing up his face, “I want to go with you and rescue Iruka and I’m not going to bed until he’s okay!”

“You can’t come with me, but it will be okay.” Kakashi repeated, very gently, and decided to allow a compromise. “But you don’t have to go to your bed until I come back, is that okay? Just go wait with Uhei and her babies, in Iruka’s room. I’ll let you know as soon as he’s safe.”

Kakashi doubt this would’ve worked so easily if Naruto hadn’t already been exhausted, but there was no way in any hell that he was going to let Naruto come with him, much less when he was still more than a little drunk and barely keeping his own shit together. But it did work, thankfully— Naruto made a waspish expression, but got to his feet. Walking unevenly, the boy didn’t fight when Kakashi and Uhei led him to Iruka’s cot, which Uhei had apparently co-opted into a pup nest. (Kakashi raised an eyebrow at Uhei, who muttered, somewhat grudgingly, “I move them off the bed when he sleeps.” It would’ve been cute in other circumstances.)

“I’m not gonna sleep tho.” Naruto said, sitting up against the mural and wrapping himself in blankets, expression stubborn and peevish and still red from the crying. Despite this proclamation, he was unconscious by the time Kakashi had removed both of his shoes, Uhei nestled between him and her puppies.

Kakashi sighed, and rubbed Uhei between the ears. “Thank you, keep him safe.” She snuffled at him, a wordless ‘of course’. Then he stood, walking back out to the main room, opening his sharingan oncemore.

Iruka sometimes talked to the castle like it was alive— usually when he thought Kakashi was not paying attention to him. Kakashi had only ever half-believed the folk wisdom about sufficiently old seals and artifacts becoming something like alive, had mostly dismissed these stories as superstitions, superficially supported by the sheer layered intricacy inherent the seals necessary to create artifacts this complex. They were clever _imitations of life,_ programmed to be so, but not actually _alive—_ or so he’d thought _._ Now, though, he wasn’t entirely certain (or, perhaps, in a moment of desperation, he was willing to believe anything). “Guard Naruto,” He told his pack, brooking no argument, staring Bull down when the big dog made to stand and follow him. “You’re my pack; guard the rest of my pack.” Kakashi repeated, firm, and then he walked purposefully up the stairs, fiercely and angrily thinking to the castle that he wanted to go to the place that felt like _hall of the dead,_ the place Pakkun had wordlessly described, and that the castle should take him there _directly_. He paused at the top of the stairs, twisting left once, ready to rail against the castle in invisible fury if it led him on the same wild and confusing maze-path that it had during his very initial explorations.

The world twisted around him, the old spells responding instantaneously to his actions and thoughts.

***

The place Kakashi landed was _cold,_ damp, and very long. The walls and supports were covered in archaic ornate decoration, similar to thosein the hall outside the library, but all wrought in stone instead of wood, saltpeter deposits thick and damp and pale, obscuring parts of the delicate carvings. It smelled acrid and dank— partially the old unpleasant smell of disused caves and burial grounds, but with a fresh set of unfortunately familiar smells heavy in the still air: fear, blood, viscera, that awful smell associated with a human body’s thorassic cavity being opened. (His own fear rose again, and for a moment Kakashi reeled, clamping down on the urge to vomit like a rookie.) There was very little light to see by— just enough to make out shadowy doorways, some with hulking shapes in them, others notably empty.

The reason why some were empty probably had something to do with the a shifting mass of shadow in the center of the room, the source of assorted terrible cracking and squishing noises. It took Kakashi another long moment to realize that he actually _was_ seeing what he thought he was seeing— that it wasn’t some false impression conjured by the lingering alcohol in his system— that the shifting mass was composed of many different mechanical bodies, variously composed of stone and wood and cloth and sinew, crouched over _something_ , focused entirely on whatever they were doing. Kakashi assumed the something was a body, and he didn’t want to know whose body it was.

But he had to know, so he stepped forward. All of the statues stopped immediately, twisting their heads to look him with eyes of glass or stone or empty air in carved sockets— even the ones still in their doorways— they all moved like the castle did, in that uncanny too-abrupt way, like they were trying to blend in with living things but lacked some basic intrinsic talent. Kakashi tensed for a moment, but the statues only paused in their activities to dip their fronts low to the ground, and immediately went back to their grisly work. They paid him no more mind as he approached, nor as he shuddered away from their actual activities: they were dismembering a corpse, their too-huge limbs and hands working with dexterity and fineness that they should not have been capable of. Or- no, not _just_ dismembering a corpse. They were breaking bones and pulling out specific bits of flesh, and adding those to a second fleshy lump on the ground, a smaller version of the same things they were, but incomplete.

They were making _more of themselves_. Out of a _person._ It was cold-comfort that the corpse was clearly Not Iruka. (This was clearly not going to be the dashing rescue Kakashi had been prepared to undertake when he’d marched up the stairs, ready to protect the unknown quantity that was Iruka, whether the other man wanted it or not.)

Iruka himself was seated on the ground some distance away, as still as the statues remaining in the tomb doorways. He was not reacting to anything, his eyes fixed mildly on the activities of the constructs, his expression somewhere between placid and clinical. He wasn’t blinking at all, and his chest was barely moving, but he was sitting upright, neither slumped nor precisely unconscious. He did not react to Kakashi’s presence, or to the grisly scene in front of his eyes— could he see it, was he still under the genjutsu?

Iruka was also _not_ reacting to the shivering tan bundle of Bisuke in his lap (and this was perhaps the most distressing thing— Iruka _always_ gave the dogs attention when they wanted or needed it, _especially_ Bisuke— it was almost compulsive). The small dog looked like he wanted to be whimpering but was to afraid to do so; when Kakashi approached, Bisuke whined almost silently: “Kakashi!” his voice a whisper, “Kakashi I don’t know what those things are, but Iruka won’t move and they’re making a Pakkun and I don’t like it at all.”

Bisuke was barely beyond a puppy, Kakashi thought, glancing behind him automatically at the smaller construct that the large ones were building, but he was also right: on second glance it _did_ resemble a slightly larger version of Pakkun, wrinkles rendered in bits of skull embedded into its half-constructed face. Kakashi did not want to think about the horrifying implications of that realization, nor he did not have the luxury of such time; he needed to get Iruka and Bisuke away from here, _now._

Kakashi opened the sharingan and then closed it immediately with a curse (the constructs, thankfully, didn’t react at all). If he’d thought other places in the castle were bright, then this was like trying to see the sun: overwhelming, all swirling chakra chaos, painful, a lance strait from the eye to his brain, as if to drag the chakra from the orifice by force. Kakashi understood Pakkun’s description of gravitational pull in this room for the first time: not funerary solemnity, as he’d assumed, but a literal _pull_ on one’s chakra. With another curse, he knelt beside Iruka. “Iruka, come on.” He said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder and giving him a little shake (too cold, Iruka was ice cold, and breathing too shallowly and too slowly). Iruka allowed himself to be moved with the motion, but didn’t stand, didn’t fight, didn’t do anything else— just stared numbly ahead of him, at the constructs, as if they were either too compelling to look away from _or_ he was seeing something else entirely.

Shit. Fuck. Kakashi opened his eye again, forcing it to stay open, eyes watering as he tried to focus. He had to see Iruka, the strong and delicate web of bright teal; had to see if this was still the effects of a Genjutsu. It shouldn’t’ve been, if the originating shinobi was dead, but— and yes, there were dark brown traces, lingering on Iruka’s energetic body and shrouding parts of it— but it had been incompletely applied, as if partially blocked by something external, and had since been exposed to the chakra pull around them; it stretched downwards, towards the center of that pull, gossamer thin strands on the edge of breaking.

He’d have to break those strands himself. Summoning his own chakra, Kakashi stared into Iruka’s eyes, directing the sharingan to swirl, to interject him into this illusion and to break it. It was harder than it should’ve been; the same drag stretching the genjutsu was dragging against his efforts; growling in frustration, Kakashi struggled against the drag, losing ground and pushing yet more chakra into the attempt. He _would_ win, _would_ break Iruka out of this place.

“Stop struggling.” Iruka’s attention had shifted to Kakashi, staring back into the sharingan with a look of vaguely distracted concern. “If you fight it, it’s worse. It doesn’t understand what you’re trying to do. It will take you without meaning to. You have to move _with_ it.” His breathing sped up very slightly, but his voice and movements were still slow, as if being transmitted from very far away. “It’s okay.”He added, as if to comfort _Kakashi,_ of all people.

“This is _not_ okay.” Kakashi answered, but he stopped fighting the gravitational pull, and felt it relax in response. He glanced back at Iruka and then closed his sharingan; the gossamer strands of Genjutsu had snapped, and what residue remained was apparently not enough to prevent Iruka from seeing him, reacting to him. “Come on, we need to leave. _Now.”_ He scooped up Bisuke with one arm and supported Iruka with the other, leveraging them all unsteadily to his feet _;_ this time, Iruka stood with him, if slowly.

The constructs— “Automatia” Iruka had said sluggishly, noticing as Kakashi shot the creatures a nauseated glance— did not react to their leaving. With every step towards the end of the hall, Iruka seemed to come slightly back into himself, shaking his head frequently, as if shaking water from his hair and eyes. “They won’t hurt us, they belong to you.”

Kakashi didn’t want them, but Iruka talking was a good sign, so he didn’t contradict the smaller man— just supported them all to the end of the hall, twisting right at the end of it, eyes closed against the churn of the castle’s transportation spell, thoughts on his bedroom. The world shifted, and then resolved itself back into the hall at the top of the stairs, Kakashi stepping forward into it properly so as not to risk toppling backwards down the stairwell.

Kakashi’d apparently missed most of the action, but whatever had happened in that tomb complex was far more distressing than an actual fight would’ve been.

Bisuke was squirming in his arm, blinking up at the jarring warmth of the hall as if he wasn’t sure it was a real place, still shaking slightly. “Bisuke,” Kakashi said, placing him gently on the ground, “Can you please go to Naruto and Uhei downstairs, and when Naruto wakes up— on his own— tell him Iruka is back safe and I’m taking care of him?” It’d calm Bisuke down, too— the presence of Naruto and the rest of the pack was probably going to be far more comfort to the pup than Kakashi himself was capable of being at the moment.

Bisuke looked relieved and nodded, trotting downstairs with steadiness that Kakashi and Iruka currently lacked.

Iruka had shrugged away from him and was leaning stiffly against the wall, breathing returning slowly to normal, various expressions passing quickly over his face as he tried to process the dregs of the genjutsu and.. whatever else had been influencing him, moments before. His mouth was moving silently; he looked feverish.

Naruto was in Iruka’s bed, and that was downstairs, and Kakashi himself was feeling too raw and ragged and wobbly to get either of them there safely. Making a quick decision, he gently herded Iruka into his own bedroom, the man responding automatically, not entirely aware of his surroundings.

Kakashi’s bedroom was two things: a huge mess, and a huge relief. There were objects everywhere, but they were _his_ objects, and _he_ had put them there, and _he_ knew what and where and why they were, and none of them were secret cemeteries that apparently his _house_ had just been _carrying around_ the entire time he’d been _living there._

Kakashi’s room also had a ridiculous number of wards everywhere, coating every surface, far in excess of what was reasonable for even the most paranoid shinobi. The hum of their persistant energy was loud, but it was also familiar, and while it didn’t precisely _negate_ the castle energy that suffused everything else, it did mask that energy.

Kakashi steered Iruka to the bed; the smaller man allowed himself to be steered, sitting on the edge, burrowing into the the blankets Kakashi piled around his shoulders (he was still way too cold for Kakashi’s comfort, though his breathing was back to normal). Iruka wasn’t really paying attention to him— the smaller man’s hand was resting on his belly, a look of mild concentration and concern on his face.

Kakashi was at the end of his own Chakra reserves, but he opened the sharigan one more time, looking over Iruka’s body. All bright teal, the brown of the genjutsu had sloughed completely off. The white core of his (their?) child was still where it was supposed to be (and, if anything, was brighter than before.) Kakashi let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You’re fine.” He said with relief, as much to reassure himself as Iruka, moving some books off of a chair so that he could it for its intended purpose. “You and the baby are both fine.”

But Iruka’s reaction was not what Kakashi was expecting; instead of relief, he stiffened, brown eyes snapping open and fixing with surprising sharpness on Kakashi’s own. “What?” 

Kakashi frowned in confusion. “What?” His immediate fear and mission-focus was fading, the people he loved were safe and well, and that horrible mix of exhaustion and drunk and pre-hangover were settling firmly over his brain, as the adrenaline-imposed clarity ebbed away. The Immediate Danger Was Supposed to Be Over. His thoughts were now on the new revelations of the castle’s dangerous nature, and the fact that someone had come looking for Naruto, neutralizing the Hatake compound wards and his pack of ninken in the process. He was not in a state capable of processing complex emotional landmines at this very moment, but Iruka seemed upset, almost annoyed.

But Kakashi also wasn’t in a state to flee, like he ordinarily might be inclined to. And he’d told himself he was going to Put This Thing To Rights, this thing between them. Might as well start now.

“The baby.” Iruka repeated flatly, “How do you know I’m pregnant. How long have you known.” His tone was exhausted, but there was glittering anger behind it, fueled by weeks of fear and tension and uncertainty and terrible loneliness. _Finally_ , he was able to speak about this, and all of those emotions he’d kept buried under a seal were bubbling forward, suppressed only by the flat emptiness that always lingered left after a terrifying event—

Wait. Buried under a seal—

Kakashi was reeling, barely capable of keeping up with where this conversation was going. He took a moment to answer, proceeding with deliberation and care. “When you were in the library?” he answer, the bewildered tone an artifact of his surprise at Iruka’s anger. “The sharingan can see chakra—“

Iruka interrupted him, waving off his explanation, sudden excitement mixing the brittle frustration in his voice. “I can talk to you about it. _You_ can talk about it. _Out Lou_ d. To me.” He sounded incredulous, and was looking at Kakashi with wide brown eyes, as if looking for confirmation.

Kakashi was totally lost. “Ye-es?” he offered, after a couple of agonizing seconds wherein Iruka deconstructed him with a stare every bit as intimidating as his sharingan’s was said to be (even when directed from within a mass of comfortable blankets. Possibly that made it worse, actually.) But Iruka didn’t say anything more, even after his verbal confirmation, leaving Kakashi in the dark. “I don’t-“

“You’rethefather” Iruka said, very quickly, still staring.

Weird mix of emotions, ones that Kakashi did not have time to indulge— it felt good to have it confirmed out loud. “Ye-es?” He answered again, “I mean I wasn’t sure but I assumed that’s why you’d come _here_ of all places? But why didn’t you just tell—“

“I didn’t know! You were _wearing_ a fucking _mask_ , Kakashi. The ANBU kind, not one for the festival! And I didn’t think I could tell you!” Iruka’s voice sounded ragged now, desperate, his hands were in his hair, his eyes were wide, his breathing was getting fast. Whatever was about to happen, it was far too close to the _everything else_ that had just happened for Kakashi to be entirely comfortable. Kakashi reached for Iruka’s hands on instinct, but was waved off— not in offence, though, but because the hands were already occupied: Iruka was partially uncovering himself from the blanket pile, shoving his shirt off, pointing to his belly (just barely sloped, a roundness only visible without the shirt; more weird feelings: his kid was in there, another kid, one he hadn’t met yet). Iruka offered no other words, as if this was supposed to be an explanation for the obvious confusion on Kakashi’s face.

It wasn’t. Kakashi tilted his head, still feeling terribly lost.

“Your Sharingan sees chakra.” Iruka prompted, “ _look._ ”

Kakashi obeyed, automatically, opening the eye (less pain here, thank gods for the wards), and was surprised to see the bright shapes of some intricate seals present on the brown skin. Iruka leaned back slightly, to make the seals more visible; one was on his hip, older than the others. There were two other ones, directly on the belly, newer and simpler. “Medical seals?” Kakashi observed, squinting through the headache as he tried to decipher them. He wasn’t a medic nin; the best he could do was assess someone’s chakra movements and levels.

“This one,” Iruka said, hesitating slightly and pointing to his hip. “This one is the one for— my transition. It alleviates my gender dysphoria?” The words were clumsy and awkward— from disuse rather than shame; this the first seal of this kind to Iruka’s knowledge, and its existence was a secret— but Kakashi remembered the night that had spurred all of these events quite clearly, and understood. “This one,” Iruka moved to the older of the two more recent seals, simpler in design, “er,” he expression shifted towards embarrassment, “it’s meant for protection? For myself and the- the child?” his voice cracked slightly on the word; it felt surprisingly _good_ to say these things out loud, to another human. “I wrote it when I found out I was pregnant— just before I came here— but I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been.” (Which also meant that he’d been very lucky, Kakashi thought, because ‘not as careful as I should’ve been’ in the same sentence as ‘seals’ usually had tragic consequences.) “I wrote in a silence provision, sooo nobody can talk about it except ‘the people involved’. Apparently that’s us.” Iruka was still staring at him, but Kakashi couldn’t begin to read his expression.

“What’s the third for?” he asked, the first question that lept to his mind.

Iruka blinked, still wide-eyed and staring. “It’s- just a monitoring seal. To make sure everything’s okay?” He shifted uncomfortably, drawing further into the blanket pile, his voice slightly muffled. “Because I can’t talk to medical nin about this, so if anything goes wrong, I need to know. Immediately. So I can try to fix it.”

Kakashi blinked, his brain catching up to this new information, slightly incredulous. This train was already off the rails. Might as well go with it and just. _Be_. Authentically. Where someone could see it.

(Because that someone was Iruka. Iruka, who’d wandered into his house— a magical house that apparently _ate people_ in addition to _other houses_ — and decided it was a good place to lay low until his baby was born. Without telling anyone. Without the _ability_ to tell anyone. Because of a _accident with seals._ And whose reaction, both relentlessly practical _and_ risky, was to inscribe another seal on his body, so that at least _he_ could monitor the baby’s health, given that nobody else could.)

“Why? Why any of this?”

Iruka misinterpreted his question as a challenge, very likely out of expectation. For all his obvious exhaustion, he puffed up in a fierce but brittle display, ready for a fight. “I wasn’t going to— this was an accident, but I _did_ want to have kids.” He said fiercely, “I wanted to leave that option open. I didn’t _know_ you were the father when I came here, and I’ll leave soon if it bothers you. I can do this alone, if I need to. I’m not _asking_ you to be involved in _anything,_ I’ve done this much on my own and I can do the rest-“

Iruka was gaining momentum, clearly having practiced some version of this in his head, but he was reacting to a question Kakashi hadn’t meant to ask. “You don’t.” Kakashi cut him off quickly, allowing himself the rudeness of an interruption. “You don’t need to do this alone. I want-“ the things he hadn’t allowed himself to think about, and gone and gotten himself drunk to avoid, were finding their way into voice now “I _want_ to be involved in whatever capacity you’re willing to have me.” And before they could indulge that particular line of inquiry much further (he was still loathe to put things into words, to demonstrate things outside of action, because action was what mattered in the end.) “I meant to ask why you did the seal, the one that went wrong? Why not just go to your family for help?” He was the Hokage’s son; _surely_ the third would’ve done anything to help him.

“Oh.” Iruka said, deflating as quickly as he’d roused himself for a fight, huddling into the blankets and making himself small, looking exhausted beyond the night’s events. He shrugged. “I was scared. Didn’t want to be a burden.” He said simply; that he was used to being in his own was left unsaid. “I’m a chuunin who doesn’t take missions.” He added flatly, “and nobody knows I’m trans because the seal is experimental and the Hokage doesn’t want knowledge of that skill to get out before I could find someone to train me in seals properly. I have- had- no idea who the father was, except that they were an ANBU, it happened during a festival quickie. The baby was showing a basic chakra response at _5 weeks_ on the test I used. I’m good at complicated seals, sure, but those take weeks to design correctly, and I’m not a Master.” Iruka fixed him again with that stare, and then put his head back, closing his eyes. “Someone came after Naruto today, Kakashi. I _am_ just a chuunin.” The sentence hung heavily in the air between them.

There was a lot Kakashi wanted to say, but he had neither the words nor the practice forming them. So he took Iruka’s nearest hand in one of his own, half in comfort and half in the gesture one makes when swearing an oath. “I won’t let anyone take our child away from you.” He said seriously, “And you are welcome wherever I am.” Important to say clearly, but awkward and slightly stilted; Kakashi wished he had some way of indicating that these offers _weren’t_ made from a sense of obligation. Of all the many, _many_ things he’d feeling, grudging obligation was not one of them.

Iruka gave him a long measuring look, and then nodded, ruining his solemnity with a yawn. He tugged Kakashi’s hand; they were both tired, and he’d heard Kakashi send Bisuke downstairs to Naruto, which meant the kid was probably in Iruka’s bed. Kakashi hesitated for a moment,but joined Iruka in the bed, making no move to touch him. This was _not_ an _Icha Icha_ novel, and for all of his excessively theatrical flirting, Kakashi knew the difference.

A significant part of Iruka wanted to let the conversation fade there and slip into sleep, casting no more thought towards who might be sending people after Naruto, or what it meant that the castle had _killed_ and _repurposed_ someone who might’ve been ANBU, or the implications of the castle making an Automatia that resembled Pakkun toguard an empty tomb (may it _stay_ empty for a long time). Those things could be addressed tomorrow. But one concern lingered, and he had to know. “How- Do you know how long was I down there? In the chakra well?”

“Chakra well?” Kakashi asked— it was a term with which he was unfamiliar.

“The hall with the automatia.”

“Oh.” Kakashi’s intense dislike of the castle and the automatia was clear in his voice. “The one that almost killed you. No, I don’t know. Hours, probably. It was early night when I found you there. Is there anymore risk? To you? Or the baby?”

Iruka paused. “It didn’t almost kill me.” He corrected. “I would’ve been fine. We would’ve been fine.” Mostly fine. Probably. Magical machines that had grown sentient with time weren’t the best with understanding the fragile limitations of ephemeral human lives and fragile human bodies, but the castle had been designed to host those human lives, so it probably had a better awareness of that fragility than most. Certainly it had responded _immediately_ when it perceived danger, “But no- not- the baby and I are both probably fine.”

“Not really confidence inspiring,” Kakashi commented, but his sarcasm wasn’t as cold as Iruka was suspecting, given the brittle note of fear. “You were cold, and barely breathing, and the genjutsu on you survived its maker. And those things— the automatia— probably would’ve gone for you next. There wasn’t much of that ROOT nin left.”

More things to file away for consideration later; the word ROOT was familiar, and he’d have to give the memory proper attention later. For now, there were more pressing things— and some other things that made more sense; if Kakashi did not understand the castle at some extremely basic levels, then perhaps that might explain some of the disjunctions about this place, his unwillingness to approach the deeper castle, the huge amount of wards covering this room in _Kakashiness_ loud enough to drown out the _castleness._ “If exposure to the well for that long were going to _harm_ us,” Iruka answered seriously, “It would’ve already done so.” Other effects? Well. Those couldn’t be anticipated (and were probably going to be physically uncomfortable for Iruka, if they did happen before the baby was born. He was not looking forward to that. Probably best not to mention them to Kakashi, either, given that his only response to Iruka’s reassurance was an unconvinced hum of acknowledgement.) “But I’m serious. The Automatia can’t hurt me— or you, or Naruto, or your nin, or anyone else in the wards. They wouldn’t’ve attacked me. The genjutsu would’ve dissolved on its own, eventually, I think. In the meantime it was..” Preserving them. “Keeping me alive. And the child.”

And that thought did not comfort even Iruka, who honestly did not know what would’ve happened if nobody had come after him— the old sapience behind the castle may have been made to take care of humans, but that didn’t mean it _understood_ them. Would it have known that his body couldn’t survive in that state indefinitely? (or, could it have made him capable of that survival? Was that better?) Would it have known to wake him? Would it have been able to? He still felt weak and drawn, and he had no idea how much of that was an artifact of the exposure and experiences, and how much had been a feature of the strange partial way the genjutsu had taken hold of his mind initially.

(He’d opened the door, and had only enough time to register the ANBU-style mask— not even what animal it was— before it had hit him, turning the man into a facsimile of Kakashi. It had struck Iruka as odd, through the mental discomfort of the jutsu’s scrabbling fingers against his mind, that Kakashi would’ve phrased the request that way— “Take me to the Jinchuriki” — but Iruka would’ve listened, if not for the other voice, the deeper voice, that said in not-words the equivalent of ‘bring him to me.’ And Iruka had obeyed the deeper voice, because _of course_ he had.

That voice was like the mural, it was like a friend, and he knew in his bones that it would only ever protect the people he cared about. So he had brought the strange not-Kakashi— who’d turned back into a stranger as soon as they’d reached the tombs— and then Iruka’d sat in the cold dark, watching an extremely abbreviated battle and a prolonged dismemberment without actually _seeing_ , _listening_ and _feeling_ to alien thoughts and sensations —

(what it felt to move through the dense forest as a construct, machine-legs denying physics and reason to articulate themselves around the trees; the sensation of all the many smaller hands and fingers of the automatia, moving with paradoxical precision for instruments so blunt, separating skin and pulling bone from its muscle encasing and breaking them into shapes correct for the purposes of building the next guardian; the squish of coagulating blood and viscera with fingers that technically lacked the sensory apparatus to feel those sensations; the presence of himself (and his child, separately) beside the heart of the well; Naruto and the small demons upstairs (Naruto crying and safe and perplexingly hungry for all the food it kept sending at the small human’s tearful requests); an awareness of the absence of the third one, the one who’d woken it but who also had incomprehensibly put another magical entity between them (offering? Request?); the feeling of what it felt to contain entire buildings in a nothing space that theoretically shouldn’t’ve been able to exist; how strange the new magic always felt; how good it felt to have humans again (their absence had been so short, to a being of potentially infinite time, but it had still felt that absence, mournful that the bones of the last ones hadn’t been returned to it for safekeeping and that it was empty and alone, and then it wasn’t alone anymore and the little bright one was brighter and stranger and bigger now, how short their lives were, it had forgotten); and ah here was the third one again (angry but _finally_ willing to make some kind of direct address) come to collect the one it was currently protecting, very good)—

and then Iruka had come back to his flesh, vision now filled with Kakashi’s face, and it had taken the duration of the walk back from the chakra well to get used to having flesh limbs and eyes and lungs again.)

But Kakashi _had_ come after him— Kakashi, whose reaction to Iruka’s previous statement was an unconvinced and uncomfortable noise— and everyone was safe and well; everything else could be handled tomorrow. Iruka sighed, and closed his eyes. One last thing before he slept, something that was important, that needed to be on the table alongside the other exhausting revelations of the night: “I do need you to answer my questions, though. Soon, if not tomorrow. About the mural, and how you bound the castle to you.” He couldn’t help the note of recrimination in his voice.

Kakashi was silent long enough that Iruka thought (with a brief note of annoyance) that Kakashi was going to ignore him _again_ , but then the tall man made an admission, speaking in the direction of the room’s ceiling, “I don’t answer you because I don’t know any answers.” It was almost a sigh. “But I do have the information Minato Sensei left me, from when I inherited the castle. I’ll get them for you.”

That was acceptable. That might help him find some solution to the wild nest of tangled chakra that Iruka was now quite certain was the result of Kakashi’s initial attempt to bind himself to the castle, an otherwise standard procedure that should never have gone so awry. “Thank you.” Iruka said, and let himself slip backwards into dreams that nothing with living flesh should’ve been dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and credit to MagnusTesla for the idea re: how Iruka finds out Kakashi is the dad~ And for being a sounding board for some of my other ideas re: this fic. 
> 
> My plan for the next chapter was going to be mostly plot, buuuut I may push that back by one and write something a little fluffy as an interstitial. We'll see~~
> 
> by my initial plans, we are a little bit past the halfway mark for this fic. That's a soft indicator, so it could still expand wildly outwards-- but yeah, that's roughly where I'm at, if anyone wanted a checkpoint for this.  
> Also worth noting that one of the things I'm interested in messing with are conventional narrative structures, and that will influence this fic's resolution.
> 
> \- * [42]


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant it when i said no posting schedule~~ This has 3/4's done on my computer for literally a week since i posted the last chapter, but that last fourth, -shakes head-  
> i've also had the rest of this story plotted out more or less stable-y for nearly as long. 
> 
> have some fluff.
> 
> Infinite thanks to Badger for reading this over for me and assuaging some of my concerns, tho it may have migrated beyond your original judgments some~
> 
> As usual, no promises re: posting schedule, but i am hoping/intending that the next chap will take less than 4 months. >>

After a night of such intensity as Kakashi had just experienced, requiring the reassessment of who and what 'family' meant, there were a few different ways that one might expect the following morning to proceed. In Icha Icha, there would've been a morning of mind-blowing sex and then much bliss thereafter, the stressful climax requiring a pleasant one for balance. In more realistic situations, there might've been heartfelt confessions, or frank discussions, or at least a kind of brittleness where both parties retreated emotionally to lick their wounds and warily patrol the borders of their changing relationship.

But "Brittle" and "Naruto" could not exist in the same house, and the fact that Kakashi and Iruka were going about this relationship ass-backwards was probably the most normal thing about either of their lives. Naruto hadn't even given them a chance to awkwardly avoid any of the previous night's revelations or the fact that they'd platonically shared a bed-- the golden-haired boy had woken them up after far too little time the next morning, bursting through Kakashi's door (wards be damned), half in tears, shouting about Iruka being safe. Bisuke was following along behind, looking sheepish and slightly harangued. (The ninken had his own voice low, urgently whispering "Naruto! shhh, they're sleeping!", for all the good the suggestion did-- nor did the pup seem at all reluctant to clamber onto the bed after Naruto, following the kid's example and sprawling out between the two humans, avoiding Naruto's flailing octopus limbs as he clung to the two people he thought of as parents.)

Iruka was apparently used to this, as he'd sleeping downstairs for the past several weeks, easy for Naruto to find and wake him up in the mornings. Clearly groggy and exhausted, the man didn't even open his eyes, instead hugging Naruto close to him and patting the boy's blonde hair, groggily mumbling "M'fine, I'm fine, it's okay Naruto."

The automatic ease of that affection, the way that Iruka comforted Naruto in Kakashi's own bed, like this was an event so familiar and banal that it didn't require comment, filled Kakashi with a strange warm feeling that he was helpless to define- a pleasure with which he was unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable, and more-so at the unbidden thought that this was his whole family here, barring some of the dogs.

The Kakashi of a few nights previous would've run at this, at the sudden deep pull of intimate human connection whose immediacy and vulnerability still only shrieked "RISK" to parts of Kakashi that he'd developed as a child and since cultivated for their usefulness to a jonin. But he was retired now, he reminded himself. And even before he'd retired, he'd been encouraged by the Hokage and others to make these specific kinds of connections. By Minato. By Obito and Rin and Tenzo and Gai. By his _dogs._ And anyway, he'd Made A Decision yesterday and he wasn't going to weasel out of it now. Things were going to be different. This was already Iruka's home, and so it should _feel_ like it-- Iruka should feel comfortable here.

So instead of getting up or resisting, he allowed himself to be tugged downwards by a Naruto-- whose shouting had not abated, even if the tears had-- into a mammal pile with Naruto at the center. ("Why didn't you wake me uuuup when you got baaaack you promiiiised kakashi!" the boy was now howling, but the tightness of his arms betrayed the dregs of fear, not anger.)

Kakashi sighed, letting an arm drape across Iruka, Bisuke, and Naruto; nuzzling Naruto's spiky hair, still mussed from bed-- the boy had obviously woken up only moments before. "Maaa, Naruto, I didn't want to disturb you. A good night's sleep is very important for growing boys. And so is breakfast."

The last was a blatant attempt to redirect the kid, away from topics that still felt far too raw and uncomfortable and terrifying (no matter what assurances Iruka made, it still felt to Kakashi that there had been very real danger-- that he'd almost lost Iruka and the baby (there was a baby!) to the voracious hunger of the house-- and he didn't want to linger with those thoughts).

Naruto huffed-- he could tell when someone was trying to distract him-- but he _was_ a growing boy (and he also _was_ Naruto), and breakfast had clearly been next on his list of things to whine-scream at the adults about. "Can we have pancakes." Naruto said, a demand for all that the phrasing might suggest a question. "With chocolate. I had sandwiches for dinner because the pantry spell won't cook for me, and its sandwiches are always dry and terrible and with cucumbers." This said as if cucumbers were the most foul things in the world.

Iruka put a hand to his eyes in the universal parenting gesture of 'too early for this shit', probably imaging the state of chaos that the kitchen was in, if Naruto had been reduced to eating sandwiches. He opened his mouth to say something, but Kakashi cut in, "And cookies, you had cookies for dinner." his tone amused, "But yes, I will make you pancakes."

Naruto made wordless noises of celebration, to have won pancakes and chocolate with no real fight. He squirmed around in the arms of both adults, attaching himself, limpet-like, to Kakashi's chest, as enthusiastic about Kakashi's prolonged willingness to tolerate physical cuddling as he was about breakfast.

Iruka had opened his eyes, looking at Kakashi with bleary consideration. "You cook?"

Kakashi put his free hand to to his chest-- or rather, to his collarbone, given the Naruto-shaped attachment-- affecting a mock-wounded expression. "Sensei, you doubt me?"

Naruto scowled, squirming free from grips of parental affection, grabbing at both Kakashi and Iruka's hands. "He cooks like two things and mostly not well, but the pancakes are good." the boy explained, with all the bluntness one would expect of a small child (especially a small child named Naruto). Kakashi sniffed playfully, but the kid was right-- which was _why_ Naruto had been allowed to eat things like cookies for dinner for so long-- and allowed himself to be tugged from the bed and down the stairs, Iruka beside him.

Iruka was exchanging bleary sleepiness for thoughtful consideration, looking at Kakashi as if measuring the weight of his soul. "Do you want yours with chocolate too?" Kakashi asked, ignoring the spike of self-consiousness inspired by this gaze, wondering how much of it was reflected what parts of the previous night.

Iruka smiled at him, "Berries, please."

Iruka's smile became a grimace seconds later, when he actually saw the state of the kitchen, untouched from the previous night-- the morning thus started with sheepish cleaning, before breakfast could actually be made. Kakashi -- not actually so rude as to cut out of doing such work, though ordinarily he'd've made noises in that direction-- but he was quieter than usual, letting Naruto chatter happily and fill enough silence to compensate for many more than the three of them.

Naruto was anxious, and both of the adults could tell-- with good reason: like Kakashi, Naruto had precious few attachments in this world, and an unfortunately long history of familial loss. Naruto also _needed_ family, _needed_ connections, benefited greatly from the presence of other people who loved him, like he needed food and water and warmth and clothing-- an acutely troubling realization for Kakashi. As a child, Kakashi himself dismissed such needs, covering himself with a shell of coldness and distance-- something to which he still sometimes reflexively defaulted. Even a few months ago, he'd've probably dismissed that specific anxiety: shinobi led dangerous lives, often short and violently ended-- one should get used to loss as early as possible, as a strategy of resilience. But to actually interact with Naruto, to be responsible for him, to think about what how those implications would actually manifest in the person of _this_ child-- _his_ child-- no, Kakashi had revised that thought, and quickly. Naruto would be an excellent shinobi, but he would be one on his own terms, with the attachments from which he seemed to derive so much strength and stability. The other way, the traditional way, that wasn't right for Naruto-- and if it wasn't right for Naruto, well, perhaps there might be others who also needed alternative paths. Kakashi found himself grateful to Iruka for nurturing that part of Naruto, for doing so without pause or question, for letting Naruto fill up the space of their strange magical home with ebullient chatter both relieved and lingeringly nervous.

Kakashi only interrupted the boy once the cleaning had finished and it was time for the cooking to actually start, gently laying a hand on the Naruto's shoulder to get his attention. Naruto cherished such wordless communication, being much more driven by physical contact than Kakashi was, but it was not something Kakashi often allowed outsiders to see. Iruka-- well, Iruka wasn't an outsider. Hadn't been one for a long time. "Do you remember how to get the ingredients ready?" Kakashi asked Naruto, winking at Iruka above the child's sightline.

Naruto huffed, not wanting to do _yet more work_ after _all that cleaning_ , but answered easily enough. "Yeah" he grumbled, before wandering to the hearth to request "pancakes, with berries and chocolate and also some extra chocolate please!"

Iruka raised an eyebrow as Naruto passed. "Naruto, you didn't tell me you know how to cook too! Maybe you should've been making me breakfast these past weeks." The loving teasing was directed at the kid, but Iruka's raised eyebrow was for Kakashi, a silent question: 'does he really know how to do this, or is this a supervise-him-thoroughly kind of thing?'

Kakashi laughed, suppressed the urge to kiss the other man-- maybe that too soon, and he wanted to do this correctly, wanted to be very respectful of Iruka's boundaries and comfort-- and then nodded, "He's not allowed to actually cook them though. No fire!" The last to Naruto, a familiar refrain, and then more quietly to Iruka "He's fine to get the batter together, but maybe a little enthusiastic. Keep an eye on things for a minute? I need to get something." Iruka nodded, frowning at Kakashi in a puzzled way, more curious than annoyed. Kakashi waited only for that much confirmation, trying to remember where to look in the chaos of his room as he trotted up the stairs.

What he was looking for wasn't necessarily hard to find-- Kakashi spent more time in excavation, having more or less shoved this particular pile into a corner and then thoroughly ignored it. It took some doing, but then there they were: the books and documents he'd promised Iruka, carefully dislodged from some random papers, kunai, tools for weapons maintenance, some lovingly arranged strange sculptural things that Naruto had been building lately, and, of course, Mr Ukki. All of these things found more appropriate-- if likely equally improvised-- homes; Kakashi hesitated only a moment before heading back downstairs, grabbing another book on the way, one that lived on a shelf both more accessible and frequently used.

The kitchen was still in-tact by the time he made it downstairs-- there was some flour on Naruto's face and bright orange shirt, but he'd've would've been more concerned if that _wasn't_ the case, given the kid's general levels of energy and enthusiasm; Kakashi dropped the books on the clean half of the table, exchanging them for small the small bowls of berries and chocolate that Iruka had managed to keep away from Naruto's floury hands. Iruka looked at the pile, and then back at him, tilting his head quizzically. "The books I promised you earlier," Kakashi answered, both evasive and casual. Iruka's expression shifted first to surprise, and then into a bright smile, one that adorably distorted the scar across his face. _Right decision_ , kakashi thought to himself, for all that he really did loathe making this kind of information-- this kind of vulnerability-- available to other people. He turned his attention to Naruto, motioning for the boy to follow and bring the pancake batter. "C'mon, you get to do the scooping. Don't make them too big."

Iruka turned to investigating the books, deconstructing the original pile and sorting them by type-- sheafs of paper and loose documents in portfolios to one side, bound volumes on the other-- but he paused with the top book in his hands, the one that kakashi had grabbed last, uncertain where to file it for its difference from the others. Its spine was unmarked, but it was obviously old, well-worn, stained in the way good cookbooks tended to be. "What's this one?" Iruka called over to Kakashi, who was flicking the occasional droplet of water onto the pan he was heating, waiting for it to respond with the immediate sizzle that would indicate the correct temperature.

Kakashi flicked a glance over his shoulder, and the set of his uncovered eye didn't alter from its normal state of relaxation, giving no external indication that there was anything particularly special or unusual about that specific book. "My mother's spellbook." he answered, casually, flicking another droplet of water at the pan-- it responded appropriately, hissing and dancing across the hot surface. "First scoop, Naruto~"

But for all that Kakashi underplayed it, Iruka seemed to realize what it meant for him to offer this book too-- Iruka blinked, face blank in surprise, and then looked sharply back down at the volume in his hands with a very different kind of reverence. "Thank you," he offered; the words hung in the air slightly awkwardly, carrying an unspoken 'that means a lot' behind them.

Kakashi waved a hand at him; it should've felt forced or awkward, but instead he meant it, when he answered "No problem," an unspoken: 'you're welcome' beside it. He didn't have a chance to put the hand down before having to redirect it: Naruto had just ladled out a scoop of batter that was literally overflowing, and Kakashi had to gently halt the boy's progress, before the to-be pancake instead manifested as abstract art splattered the entire distance between bowl and pan.

\--

Brittle things could not survive long around Naruto, but that didn't mean the situation between them fell instantly into place, either. Kakashi and Iruka had intuitively done much of the early work of establishing a house together, but new layers of intimacy took time to establish, and they were still themselves: wary shinobi, better at keeping secrets than friends. Private resolution or not, Kakashi had never really been the kind to name things, to designate and celebrate the stages of relationships-- he was much more comfortable to let pattern and behavior dictate the truth of what something was, rather than to give it symbolic title-- and so he proceeded with the establishment of a _Relationship_ between himself and Iruka much the same way he'd sought consent in their initial anonymous encounter: he'd make a gesture, a wordless offer, but it was up to Iruka to finish it, and ideally with enthusiasm, not merely acceptance.

It took some time for Iruka to realize what he was doing, to see that pattern in interactions more subtle than sex; upon the realization, Iruka found himself to be profoundly touched, both at the gestures and at the space he was offered in the gesturing.

Iruka was ordinarily quite quick to affection, very open to contact, but this was a more serious thing, and his position there was more precarious. Kakashi may have harbored a strong resentment towards the place, but the castle was still Kakashi's house, his domain, and thus his magic and chakra were everywhere, even if he didn't want them to be. Iruka's welcome had been made explicitly clear, but part of him still felt slightly vulnerable, and moreso for the pregnancy; to be so carefully given space was spoke of a level of emotional awareness that he otherwise might not have thought Kakashi capable of-- though, in retrospect, perhaps it shouldn't've been so surprising, in light of gifts and gestures like the pickles and the retrieval of books from a surveilled house.

 _of course_ a ninja of Kakashi's caliber would've noticed Iruka's frequent thoughtful staring, whether or not he reacted visibly to it, but Kakashi was the same level of warm and casual to him regardless, as if one's pregnant roommate and child-rearing-partner frowning at them thoughtfully for several minutes at a time was a completely normal thing. Kakashi wasn't exactly easy to know, much less easy to figure out, but he was patient and obviously genuine-- just not always with words.

These realizations took time, but Iruka was eager to learn; in the weeks following his time in the chakra well, he approached doing so with deliberation and care. Iruka leaned in to Kakashi's gestures, as careful in the acceptance as Kakashi was in the offering, allowing the tentativeness with which they approached each other to develop itself into something deeper, more comfortable, and more confident, and on their own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very sincerely for reading!
> 
> I now maintain a single social, [Pillowfort.](https://www.pillowfort.social/00101010) There is also a form linked there, through which anyone may toss some prompts at me, tho i make no promises about answering them and i tend to let ideas migrate where they will, sometimes quite far from where anyone intended.
> 
> \- 42 / 00101010 / BooleanWildcard / Asterisk / * 


	10. AUTHOR NOTE (NOT an actual update)

I'm gonna throw off my chapter count oops~~

This is an update to say two things;

First, and faster: I am going to go back through the extant chapters and make some superficial edits, mostly to tighten up some grammar stuff. so bear that in mind. Major structural or storytelling or plot etc will not be changed.

Second: Woods is a relatively simple story that I started as a way to test the waters for actually posting the fanfiction i write/taking it seriously as something that I do? And, as with all introductory projects, that meant that I didn't yet have a process for how to actually _do_ any of this stuff. Woods was/is the project where I've developed a lot of that process.

Whiiiiich also means that it unfortunately sits at this interesting liminal space of projectness that's basically Super Hyper Disorganized TM. Now that those processes are a little better developed, i kinda have to go back and import everything I was doing here into those processes; woods is basically planned out, but the notes for woods are on 3 different devices, in 2 different notebooks, and also on uncountable scraps of paper around my house and pinned to my walls. I need to condense that down into something a little more easy to use, RIP, and doing that has been enough of a task to present An Executive Function problem. 

The process of doing this will yield some of those edits mentioned above, since one of the process things I've started doing is reading shit out loud during edits.

I don't necessarily consider woods on hiatus, becuase that would imply i have a schedule and i definitely do not have a schedule, but it has run into some Executive Function Traps, and i'm currently undoing those. (Some of them can't be undone-- this story was partially done to address isolation and when it is and is not self-imposed, and what isolation means post-covid is very very different-- that's beyond my control. But I can finish out some of the other things.)

Another of those issues also is that i actually really prefer to write in present tense-- I really enjoy that-- buuuut woods is written in past tense. I like to work on mulitple stories at one time, and switching tenses in my own work is _very hard_ for my brain to handle, apparently. SO. **the point here is** that I'm still deciding if I want to try to proceed with wood in past tense, or if I want to try to back-shift it all to present tense and then finish it out in present-tense. I'm low-key leaning to that second option, but I want to try the backshifting for a few chaps before I make that commitment. 

IF I do decide to have the whole thing be in present tense, then what I'm going to do is repost those chapters as a seperate story, and add an author's note (like this one) here linking to that story, so that this version exists in tact. 

For what it's worth, where I paused on woods is also one of the places I thought about finishing the story out, so this doesn't strike me as being terrible. 

Anyway, that's enough of a disruptive decision that I thought it worth this kind of A/N 


End file.
